Macadamia Pancakes
by LeLe
Summary: Story about the ups and downs of House's relationship with a younger woman. Not quite sure how far I'll go with this. House/Other
1. Chapter 1

I watch him as he sleeps. You would think that once asleep, he would be rid of his ideas and worries and intensities, but he looks concentrated as if he's trying to figure out the precise workings of the human mind during REM. He is free of demons and plagues, but never free of his thoughts. His brow is furrowed, his eyelids concealing those keen, piercing blue eyes. He needs to shave when he wakes up, but probably won't. Hobo chic is his thing.

He's as old as my father and I don't care. I don't have daddy issues, I wasn't molested as a child, I'm not mentally ill. I've never dated a man this much my senior before, it's not a fetish or a habit. I'm not after his money. I knew the second I met him that I would have him. I've never been as attracted to any other man as I am to this man. I am twenty two years old, fresh out of college, working part time at a coffee shop, dating a man who is forty eight. I don't give a shit.

I consider watching him sleep until he wakes up, his blue eyes meeting my blue eyes and letting out a series of angry questions peppered with profanity. Today is his day off, though, and the last thing I want to do is start it off with his irritation. I lightly kiss his ear, my lips just barely grazing the lobe, and crawl from the warmth of his bed, not bothering to put anything on over my tank top and thong.

The kitchen is immaculate, as I like to keep it, but through no effort on his part. I start a pot of coffee and take out the things I need and start making macadamia pancakes, his favorite. I got the recipe from Wilson a few weeks after I met him, intending to make them as a surprise one morning. I was exactly what he was looking for, exactly what he needed.

The last thing Dr. Gregory House wants is some simpering little thing clinging to him, looking for him to be a gentleman, be the man they would marry. That isn't House. I clean, I cook, I satisfy his every need and when he needs me gone or feels suffocated, I'm gone for a few days. I know when he is getting restless and feels held down and have the good sense to get out of his way before he blows up; and I know exactly when he needs me back.

I pour the pancake batter into the hot skillet, coated with butter, and set to getting his tray ready. The strawberries that hadn't been eaten last night are cut into small pieces and put into a small green bowl. I flip the pancakes at just the right time and pour his coffee into a chipped red mug. I have just enough time to eat a yogurt before taking the pancakes out of the pan and arranging them on his plate, the maple syrup sitting next to the strawberries. I take the time to brush my teeth and put on deodorant before bringing the breakfast tray in. I do my best to keep myself looking and smelling good for him.

I walk back into the bedroom, always keeping quiet lest I wake the beast from his slumber in an unpleasant manner. He's already awake, sitting up and looking at the empty space next to him, curious as to why I'm not there. He looks up at me with raised eyebrows. His eyes travel from my face to my breasts to the tray to my lack of pants. I lay the tray across his legs and crawl back into bed with him.

There is an offhand compliment on the pancakes, but no thank yous are exchanged between us, no I love yous, no sweethearts or honeys. He doesn't offer me a bite of anything and I don't ask. There are few words between us until I take the tray away and return to bed. He makes some remark about being a dirty man and I kiss him.

He tastes like maple syrup and before I know it, his fingers tuck themselves under the waist of my underwear. There is a moment right before I lower myself onto him, a moment of tension, of excitement, of anticipation and then he's inside me and all there is… is complete ecstasy.

xXxXx

I wake up half expecting her to be staring at me like an idiot. I know she does it to get a rise out of me and make me squirm. I'm about to let out a curse at her, about to tell her to get out, but I open my eyes and she isn't there. The spot where she's supposed to be is vacant and cold. She's been gone for a while.

I knew one day this would come, where I'd wake up and she'd be out of my life forever. I'll curse her and tell myself I'm better off and all I'll miss is the sex and the cleaning. What can I expect from a girl more than half my age? From a girl who should be with a guy her age that isn't an angry crippled addict? I'll bitch at Wilson for a couple weeks and move on.

She's exactly what I need and exactly what I want: uncomplicated, undemanding and completely dedicated. She cleans without my having to ask, she cooks gourmet quality meals and keeps up with me in bed, doing anything I ask with a smile. Her body isn't supermodel perfect, but she is beautiful. She knows I don't want her to love me, I don't want her to be around me constantly. It's almost like she can read my mind; she leaves when I need her to but she comes back when I start to miss her. I would never tell her I miss her. I don't want to miss her, I don't want to need her. I want to be okay if she leaves and never think twice… but I don't want that either.

I suppose it's just as well that I spend my day off alone, brooding.

Just as I'm about to pity my old, foolish crippled self, she's in the doorway. Her honey brown hair is disheveled, but not a complete mess. She's still beautiful without makeup, natural and soft and young. She's calm and pleased… and not wearing a bra; it's cold. She's made me breakfast: pancakes, strawberries and a cup of coffee. I see my other breakfast, too; she's not wearing pants.

She puts the tray across my lap gently. She's just careful of my leg enough that I know she cares but not too much so I feel like a gimp. She crawls into bed next to me and rests her head just by my shoulder.

Macadamia pancakes. She must've gotten the recipe from Wilson when I wasn't paying attention. I tell her they're good and continue eating. They're better than good, even better than Wilson's. I won't tell her that, won't say thank you. I don't want her to feel needed and get clingy. I'll never be the man she could marry, start a life with, have children with. I can never give her the impression that I could be that.

I finish eating and she gets rid of the tray. I tell her I'm a dirty man ready for the rest of my breakfast and I kiss her. She's brushed her teeth and tastes minty. I pull down those pesky underpants and she straddles me. I grip her hips and close my eyes and let myself be consumed by complete ecstasy.


	2. Chapter 2

We're still naked, lying in bed. My back is pressed to his chest and his acoustic guitar is against my breasts. He moves his hand up the neck of the guitar as I strum it with my fingertips. The fact that he's a brilliant doctor _and_ a talented musician is all the more sexy. I can't play a single instrument, something he found irritating until he heard me sing. I don't do it often, but I can put him at ease or put him to sleep with a song.

We aren't playing a song, just a few chords, filling the silence with the twang of the strings. We're both in a calm state of being, tired and satisfied after our incredible sex session. I'm contented, completely and utterly. Moments like this, I'm glad I got arrested.

We met when I was doing my community service, bringing food around to the rooms. I'd gotten pulled over for speeding and instead the cop smelled the roach in my ashtray. I got off easy with 20 hours of community service and a year's probation.

He found me in an empty hospital room with my boots resting on a bed, eating Jell-O. I think what got him was when I asked him what the fuck he was looking at. We skipped out on the rest of our respective shifts and went for coffee; far away from the coffee shop I work in. He popped a Vicodin, I poured Bailey's into my coffee; it was noon.

He puts the guitar aside and gets up to shower. I wrap myself up in the sheets and breathe in his scent. I'm looking forward to this day. I don't want to do anything except keep him happy all day. I get up and follow him into the shower. His hands roam around my body as I wash his back, his thighs, his arms and shoulders. I massage his back, working on the many knots he has. He carries his stress with him everywhere.

When we get out, we dress and go for a ride on the motorcycle. I cling onto him, my breasts pressing into his back and my head resting between his shoulders. He takes the turns quickly, trying to scare me. We end up in a tavern just outside of town and order beers and burgers. He threatens to beat the bartender with his cane if there are pickles anywhere near our burgers.

He's angry that the music on the jukebox isn't anything he likes. I go up and put in a dollar, picking songs I know he'll be less apt to complain about. I'm not in the best mood, cramps notifying me that my period should finally be arriving; it means no more worrying, but a week of being bloated. I get back to the table and he tells me Wilson is coming over for dinner. I sigh and press my forehead to the table. I hate his last-minute bullshit. I wasn't going to wear any underwear and let him lick dessert off my inner thigh; now I'll have to think of something else to serve…

xXxXx

We're still naked, lying in bed. Her back is pressed to my chest and my guitar is hiding those delicious, perfect breasts. I move my hand up the neck of the guitar, pressing down onto the frets as she strums with her fingertips. She can't play a single instrument, something I find quite peculiar about a girl like her. Her singing voice, however, is incredible. It's low and rough and smoky and sexy. She won't sing very often, something that irritates me to no end.

This is one of the very few moments in my life where I'm relaxed. We play a few chords, our hands lazy. Our sex never ceases to amaze me. I've never been so satisfied with any other woman. Moments like this, I'm glad I needed peace and quiet away from Cuddy.

We met one particularly stressful day, when Cuddy wouldn't get off my back about telling a patient's mother to get out of my way and play in traffic or I wouldn't give her son antibiotics to kill the infection in his lungs. I went for one of the empty rooms to just deflate and instead I found her.

She was one of the more beautiful women I'd seen, sitting in a chair with her big black combat boots resting on a bed. Her denim skirt was frayed and her pink tank top had a black skull on her right breast; her cleavage was incredible. She had on the blue coat that volunteers wore, but had failed to button it. She was eating green Jell-O and when she finally realized I was in the room, she looked up with big blue eyes and asked me what the fuck I was looking at.

I tried to make her uncomfortable so she would leave and asked her if she was here for a breast exam. She smiled that beautiful smile and said she was just waiting for the end of her community service hours so she could go smoke the joint in her pocket. We went to coffee, me popping a Vicodin and she adding Bailey's to her coffee. I knew from there that I wanted to know more about her.

I put the guitar to the side and decide to shower. I haven't washed my hair in a couple days and figure now is a good time. I'm rinsing the shampoo from my hair when she slips into the shower behind me. I run my hands all over her smooth skin as she pampers me, washing me and massaging me. She's unafraid of really digging at the knots in my back and shoulders. She knows exactly what I need, when I need it.

When we get out, we dress and go for a ride on my motorcycle. She's holding tightly to me, her head resting between my shoulders. It gives me a rush to have her clinging to me like this. I take the turns quicker when she's on the bike, I feel younger and more invincible. I also like to scare her a little bit and make her tighten her grip. We go to a tavern just outside of town and order beers and burgers. She's not shy about drinking early in the day. I tell the bartender I'll beat him with my cane if there is even a hint that a pickle has been near our burgers. Her hatred of pickles is also something that attracts me to her.

The jukebox is playing some bullshit I wouldn't even want to know the name of. The only problem with places like this is the shitty music. She gets up and I watch her ass as she walks to the jukebox, puts her dollar in and presumably chooses songs I'll be able to tolerate. Her hips sway back and forth on her way back and it makes me want her again. Wilson is coming to dinner, though, so we'll have to do it immediately when we get home to give her time to cook. She's angry that I've waited last-minute to tell her about our extra guest. I'm not concerned; she's an intelligent girl and will figure something out. She likes Wilson, I think, so she doesn't mind.

All I can think about now is what I'm going to do to her when we get home.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm setting the table as I wait for the linguine to cook. House is sitting in the living room, watching a History Channel special on the history of Jazz. Wilson is with him, the two of them drinking beers and talking. I have a couple nice bottles of red wine on the table and I sip at my glass. I'm making linguine carbonara, a dish I know they both love.

I don't want to get too comfortable in my domestic goddess position in House's life. It's something I love more than anything, but I feel like one day he's going to get into one of those moods and want me to leave, but it'll be for forever. If things could stay the way they are for the rest of my life, I would be happy.

I feel giddy from the wine combined with the fact that I started drinking at one. I enjoy Wilson's company, as he's more agreeable than House. The first time I met Wilson was early on in my relationship with House; not that he would ever call it a relationship. I'd visited him in his office with a chicken salad sandwich and some chips and ended up under his desk giving him a blowjob.

Wilson walked in and House did nothing, not bothering to notify either of us of each other's presence. I heard Wilson's voice and was startled, banging my head on the desk. I peeked over the edge and found a surprised and bemused doctor staring at me. I started to laugh and he laughed along with me, putting me at ease.

I'm putting the pasta into a serving dish when I feel an intense cramp. House isn't afraid of sleeping with me on my period, but I feel disgusting and our sex life cools down a little during that week.

I call them in to dinner and hear House grumble about missing the rest of the special. I tell him to TiVo it, but he's impatient and wants to watch it now. He comes in grumbling and smacks my ass with his cane as he walks by.

They talk about the hospital, about Cuddy and Foreman, two people I've met briefly and two people I'm sure look at me like I'm insane for being with House. I'm sure he gets enough crap about being with me, young as I am.

I'm clearing the table when I'm gripped by another intense cramp. It stops me in my tracks, but I try to brush it off. When another one comes, it makes me cry out and knocks me to the ground, pain tearing through me. The plates I'm carrying shatter and my left wrist is sliced open by the edge of the glass. I hear the chairs scraping back from the table as Wilson and House walk to me, but all I can think of is the pain.

I wail, the pain in my wrist and the cramps grabbing at me with an iron grip. Tears run down my face and Wilson is crouched down by me, trying to ask me what's wrong. I'm on all fours and I put my head down and see the blood running down my legs.

I don't remember much after that.

xXxXx

I'm sitting on the couch, watching a History Channel special on the history of Jazz. Wilson is next to me, we're drinking beers and discussing Duke Ellington. I can smell bacon in the kitchen and I hear it sizzling along with the clinking of plates and glasses as Henri sets the table. She's making linguine carbonara, one of my favorites.

I don't want to get too comfortable with her being in my house like this, doing the cooking and the cleaning. One day, she'll find something better to do with her time than take care of an angry old man. I'll always need her way more than she needs me. If things could stay the way they are for the rest of my life, I would be happy.

I've been drinking since one and am slightly at ease, surrounded by two people I can tolerate. It's wonderful that they can also tolerate each other. Wilson met Henri early on in the relationship; although I'll never let her think that I consider this is a relationship. She'd visited me in the office with a chicken salad sandwich and some chips and ended up under the desk, giving me one of the best blowjobs of my life.

Wilson walked in and I was too distracted to say anything to either of them. Wilson started talking and she got scared, banging her head on the desk. Wilson was surprised, I just shrugged my shoulders as she peeked from under the desk. They started laughing, but I was just disappointed that she wasn't still under the desk.

She calls us in to dinner and the jazz special isn't over yet, upsetting me. She tells me to TiVo it, but I don't like it when I can't watch something from start to finish; I hate having to stop and then start again. As punishment for finishing cooking too early, I smack her ass with my cane as I limp by.

Wilson and I discuss the hospital, Cuddy and Foreman and Henri pipes in now and then. She's met both Cuddy and Foreman, two people who give me hell for being with someone so young and obviously insane for being with me.

The meal is delicious and she goes to clear the table for dessert. I know exactly what I want for dessert later, but I have to get rid of Wilson first. She's walking toward the kitchen and stops. I eye her curiously. She takes another couple steps before she cries out and the plates crash to the ground and her knees buckle. Wilson and I stand up immediately, alarmed.

Her small body tenses as she shouts out in pain. I feel fixed in this spot, shocked and distressed by the sudden turn of events. I see she's sliced open her wrist on the shards of glass and as Wilson crouches down to ask her what's happening, I see the blood.

It blooms on the back of her dress and drips down her legs, pooling on the floor. My heart is racing as I watch. She's crying out in pain and sobbing, her body tense.

Wilson shouts at me and I'm snapped into auto-drive. I whip out my cell phone and call PPTH, telling them to ready the ER for her. I hobble into the bedroom and pull off the top sheet, throwing it over her so Wilson can wrap it around her. He scoops her up in his arms, something that immediately throws me into a rage. I should be the one carrying her, not Wilson, but I'm an old cripple and I can't.

We rush outside and Wilson puts her across the back seat of his car. I can see tears rolling down her cheeks. I've never seen her cry, I've never seen her in pain, I've never seen her weak.

I jump into the passenger seat and Wilson speeds toward the hospital. I turn my body so I can keep an eye on her. She's smeared with blood and crying. I look at Wilson, whose face is intense and concentrated, his right sleeve also stained with blood.

We get to the ER and Cuddy and a few nurses are waiting for us. Henri is pulled out of the car and put onto the stretcher. I try to keep up as they rush her through the hallway, determined to be with her every second. I answer Cuddy's questions hastily, annoyed that she wants information at a time like this. Henrietta Marie James, born June 3, 1986, blood type O negative, no known allergies, Aetna insurance. I'm too anxious to notice that I know this much about her.

When Cuddy tells me it was a miscarriage, I have to sit down. A miscarriage. She tells me she's sorry, but I'm too bewildered. I'm not sure which upsets me more, the fact that she had a miscarriage or the fact that she never told me she was pregnant in the first place. I stand and storm into her room, startling the nurse giving Henri pain medication, antibiotics and a sedative.

Her eyes are wide and startled, bloodshot from crying. She's pale and has dark circles under her eyes. She looks tiny. There's an IV of saline solution in her arm, something I know she's not happy about. She hates needles. I ignore her vulnerability and let her have it.

I ask her why she didn't tell me she was pregnant, I thought she was on birth control. I'm more demanding than asking, shouting at her.

She tells me she was on the pill, she didn't know she was pregnant. It's bullshit, how could she not know? I'm angry, very angry. She's crying and the nurse has left, frightened.

She's trying to convince me she didn't know, asks me how she could be drinking if she knew she was pregnant. She's sobbing. She puts her hand to her forehead and I can see the stitches in her wrist.

Maybe she was drinking because she wasn't going to keep it anyway, so who gives a shit if she gives it FAS? It angers me even more to think about it. I accuse her of pretending she wasn't pregnant so she could go get an abortion behind my back. Cuddy is in the doorway, yelling at me to stop, to leave her alone.

She's pleading with me, begging me not to say things like that. She tells me she wouldn't do that to me, to our baby. She says she loves me and I feel myself freeze.

I tell her don't; don't waste her fucking time. I spit the words out and turn and walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up disoriented

I wake up disoriented. The room I'm in is too bright and smells strange. I move and feel something pulling at my arm and a thick pad between my legs. I groan and open my eyes. The hospital. It all comes flooding back to me like scenes from a bad movie. I lost a baby I didn't know I had and lost the man I love.

Shit, I said it to him, too. I said exactly what he never wanted to hear. I just wanted to make him stop, make him believe I would never keep something like that from him. I look down and see the stitches in my wrist; eight of them. I must have come down rather hard on those plates for a cut this deep. I'm not sure what to think about the situation. What should I be more upset about, the loss of something I never knew I had or the loss of something I knew I had, but also knew it would fall apart eventually?

I'm contemplating these things when someone enters the room. I look up; it's Cuddy. In silence, she comes to the bed and starts taking out the IV line. I suppose I'm being discharged now, but I don't know why Cuddy could be bothered to do this; there were nurses crawling all over the place. We're both trying to ignore the elephant in the room, but in the end she breaks the silence. She asks me how I feel.

I want to know how I should feel about it. Am I really supposed to be all bent out of shape about my miscarriage? What would have happened if I found out before this? Aren't I better off now? It's not like he would have taken any sort of responsibility.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. And all of a sudden the tears come flooding out. Im embarrassed to do this in front of her, someone I barely know. I sob and out of nowhere I feel her arms around me. She strokes my hair and lets me cry, and I know it's because she feels compassion for me and no one else will. Most would say I brought it on myself, being with him in the first place; I know House will feel that way, I'm sure Foreman will assure him of it.

She feels compassion for me because she knows what it is to try and care for House. She feels compassion for me because all of a sudden, I've gone from House's slutty young mistress to a young girl who's in love with the most difficult, stubborn, unsympathetic man anyone has ever known.

xXxXx

I'm in my office, squeezing a stress ball and staring hard at my desk. I'm not happy about the situation. I haven't gone to see her, won't go to see her. I'll let her walk right out of my life so I can resume my miserable, lonely existence. I pop a Vicodin and wash it down with some lukewarm coffee. Wilson is sitting across from me, looking at me with that fucking look of his that tells me I'm an idiot and bringing this upon myself.

She said those things to me, the things I never wanted to hear from her. I know she wanted me to see her side, believe her story. I never thought she'd keep something like that from me, but I think about it and there is so much I don't know about her. Where does she go when she's not working and she's not with me? To her apartment? To do what? It frustrates me that I still haven't perfected my mind-reading powers.

I'm still not sure what to think. What should I be more upset about, the loss of something I never knew I had or the loss of something I knew I had, but also knew it would fall apart eventually?

Wilson tries to get me to go down to talk to her. She's being discharged and he has to take her back to my place to pick up her car. He tells me he can delay taking her back if I want to go down and talk. I don't want to talk to her. If I talk to her, I have to confront these feelings I have that I don't want to name. I don't say that last part, but Wilson knows that's why I won't talk to her.

He asks me what I think about it. I want to know what I should think about it. Am I really supposed to be all bent out of shape that she had a miscarriage? What would have happened if she hadn't miscarried and we were confronted with this issue? Aren't I better off now? It's not like I would have wanted to take any sort of responsibility.

He reminds me that Henri is the only light in my life and he's right. He reminds me that I'm not in pain when she's around and that if I am, she can make it go away. He reminds me that she cooks, she cleans and never asks for a single thing in return from me. I'm getting angry with him and tell him to shut the fuck up. He reminds me that she loves me and is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I stand and throw the stress ball. It makes contact with something and I hear glass shattering. I tell Wilson to keep his fucking mouth shut if he doesn't want my cane connecting with his pretty face. I don't want to hear a damn thing from him. I want to forget about it all, I want to forget about her. I had the glass and the blood cleaned from my floor, had her scent washed from my sheets, I threw away the rest of the pasta she'd made and the apple tarts. I wiped my apartment clean of her.

Wilson lets me go on my tirade, yelling and pointing and pushing things off my desk and I know it's because he feels compassion for me and no one else will. Most would say I brought it on myself, being with her inthe first place; I know I feel that way, and I'm sure Foreman will reassure me of this.

He feels compassion for me because he knows I tried to care for Henri. He feels compassion for me because all of a sudden, we all see that in that hospital room is someone who's gone from my little nymphet mistress half my age to a young girl who's in love with the most difficult, stubborn, unsympathetic man anyone has ever known.


	5. Chapter 5

Wilson comes down, looking defeated

Wilson comes down, looking defeated. I know he's been talking to House. He asks me how I feel and I tell him I'm fine. We walk through the hallways, out of the hospital and to his car. The ride to House's apartment is quiet. He parks and we sit in the car in silence for a moment. I fish through my purse and find a joint in my eyeglasses case. As I light it and get out of the car, Wilson tries to say something to me, something that he wishes would make me feel better, but I inhale and just look at him, my face blank but telling. I don't want to hear it.

I see a garbage bag on the front stoop of the building and look inside. My clothes and anything of mine that was in the apartment is in this black garbage bag. I suppose I'm lucky he didn't throw it or give it away. I grab the bag and throw it in the back of my Jeep Grand Cherokee. The joint puts me at ease, or at least as at ease as I can be in this situation.

Back at my apartment, I check my phone. I have four new voicemails, probably from my boss or coworkers. I was supposed to work today and didn't call out; I sincerely doubt anyone else had the idea in their head to call out of work for me. The apartment is small and lonely. There's no food in the fridge or the cabinets because I'm never here anymore, always at his place. I don't care, I'm not hungry anyway. My apartment is paid for by my parents, who are itching for me to get a real job so I can pay for it myself. I'd love to get rid of the expense, but House would never have wanted me to move in.

I call my boss and tell him what happened. We're friends and in my state of mind, I'm willing to be open about the situation. He's shocked and sympathetic and lets me know that he's around if I need anything. I'm given the rest of the week off. I have no idea what I'll do with all that time on my hands. When I'm not with House, I'm in my apartment reading or watching TV. Once in a while I'll go out with friends, but rarely. I suppose I'm a bit of a recluse.

My head is full of thoughts that I can't put aside. I wonder how it was that I never knew I was pregnant. The nurses say I was barely five weeks, so perhaps I would have noticed in the coming days. I wonder when it happened and how and where. I wonder what I would have done if I found out the normal way. I wonder what House is thinking.

I lie down on my bed, a bed House and I never made love in, and continue to smoke the tiny end of my joint. He's never been to my apartment, never bothered to make the trip. I'm sure he'd make fun of the posters on the walls; movies and musicians he doesn't particularly care for. He'd look over everything with a critical eye, judging every picture frame and decoration of it's worthiness.

I put out the joint in the ashtray on my nightstand and stare at the ceiling. My body feels tingly, and in my high I think I can just melt into nothingness and no one would ever notice.

xXxXx

Cuddy is the next one to pay me a visit. I'm already on the defensive, waiting for her tirade against me. Instead of yelling, she asks me how I'm doing and catches me off guard. I tell her I'm fine. I don't ask about Henri; I don't want to know. But as I knew she would, Cuddy tells me that she's gone and she'll be fine. I give a noncommittal grunt and rise to find someone to check on my patient. As I knew she would, she follows me.

I tell her I don't want to talk to her and I'm busy. She tells me how she held Henri in her arms as she cried over me. This makes me angry and I give her a death stare. She tells me that there is a little girl who loves me and is crying over me and her miscarriage of our baby. I tell her she wasn't much of a little girl when she was in bed with me. Cuddy tells me I'm disgusting and that I should at least talk to her. My leg is in pain and I'm on my last nerve with her. I tell her that if she doesn't get off my back about Henri, I'll switch all of her patients' prescriptions and take the pain meds for myself.

She backs away, defeated, but tells me I have to at least talk to her. I ignore her and walk away.

At the end of the day, I make it back to my apartment and it feels different. I start drinking beer after beer to escape the feeling. It's like any comforting energy has been sucked out of it completely. It's lonely and empty and dead. I'm drunk in no time and playing the guitar naked in the living room. This would be better if Henri were here, too, naked along with me.

I wonder what she's doing. I wonder if her apartment feels as desolate and terrifyingly lonely as mine. I've never been to her apartment, never bothered to make the trip. I'm sure there are stupid posters on the walls; movies and musicians I don't particularly care for. I'm sure there are cute little picture frames and decorations and black everywhere.

My head is full of thoughts that I can't put aside. I wonder if she really didn't notice she was pregnant. I wonder when it happened and how and where. I wonder what she would have done if she'd found out by peeing on a stick instead of miscarrying it on my floor. I wonder what she's thinking.

I don't want to sleep in my bed, the place we spent the most time together. I think about it and there's nowhere in the apartment I can sleep where we haven't had sex. I could try the kitchen counter, a place I would have loved to have had her, but I can't do all the things I'm sure a younger man could.

I drink my last beer and lie down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My body feels tingly and my leg is throbbing and in my drunken state I think I can just melt into nothingness and no one would ever notice.


	6. Chapter 6

It's been three weeks since I've seen him

It's been three weeks since I've seen him. I talked to Wilson a few times, but never revealed too much. He knows I'm hurting and I'm missing him, but I'll never let on that that's the case. I know House would freak out if he knew we were talking. Wilson never tells me much about him, only that he's miserable.

I didn't take the full week off that my boss, Chris, thought I should take. I went in after two days of standing around the apartment, completely lost. I immersed myself in work, doing 50 hours in four days. I've gone full time and more and when I'm not working I'm smoking and drinking myself into a coma. Weight dropped off of me at an alarming rate, but I couldn't get myself to eat anything. I still can't. I'm a mess and everyone around me is worried. I'm worried.

I long for the days when I would wake up next to him and stare at him til he woke up, cursing. I'd ease his anger by giving him a blowjob or incredibly intense, lazy, slow sex. I miss making him breakfast, bringing his lunch to his office at PPTH and making him dinner when he came home. I miss his hands on my body and his lips against mine. I miss our long conversations about anything and everything.

I'm supposed to see Wilson for lunch today. I appreciate that he's keeping up with our friendship, although being friends with your best friend's 22 year old ex-lover is a little on the strange side. I'm at work now, finishing up my morning shift. I'm wiping down tables and cleaning up dishes; I graduated college cum laude with a degree in English. House never ceased to be amazed at this. I punch out, knowing I'll be back after lunch whether Chris wants me there or not. He's tried telling me to go home, tried threatening he wouldn't pay me for unscheduled hours, tried to get me to sit around instead of doing work and finally he's given up.

I change into a dress that looks like a sack hanging from my body; I've lost twenty pounds I couldn't afford to lose. When I get to the restaurant, I can see Wilson is shocked by my appearance. I know what I look like... a pale anorexic with dark circles under her eyes. He kisses my cheek and asks me how I am, and I tell him I'm fine although he can see I'm not fine.

I order a salad but only pick at it. We talk about the hospital, about my job, about patients and coffee and the weather. He doesn't tell me about House and I don't ask him. He finally tells me he's worried about me, I've lost too much weight and look exhausted. I tell him I'm fine, I've just been busy working. It's a lie neither of us try to defend. We leave on the pretense that he'll call me within the next few days to check up on me. He tells me he's here if I need anything. I don't want anything he's offering.

xXxXx

It's been three weeks since I've seen her. I've immersed myself in work, trying to ignore the pain in my leg and solve cases, more cases than I have capacity for. I don't sleep much anymore and eating is nothing special, something I do just to keep my body going. When I'm not working, I'm drinking myself into a coma. I'm hurting and I'm missing her, but I'll never let anyone know that that's the case.

I long for the days when I would wake up to her staring at me and I'd curse at her, annoyed. She'd ease my anger by giving me a blowjob or incredibly intense, lazy, slow sex. I miss her making me breakfast, bringing my lunch to my office and making me dinner when I came home. I miss the feel of her skin under my hands and her lips against mine. I miss our long conversations about anything and everything. She was one of the few people who could actually keep up with me.

I eat lunch in my office, a peanut butter and jelly I had to make myself. There's way too much peanut butter on it and I'm getting angry about it. I don't know how, but Henri made the perfect peanut butter and jellys. I'm more irritated these days. I yelled at a patient while he coughed up blood, calling him a moron and Foreman had to tell me to get out. He's laughing to himself about my misery. He thinks I deserve everything I get and maybe I do.

Wilson comes into my office, looking upset. I polish off my sandwich and take a swig of coffee. I grimace, it's a disgusting combination. Wilson tells me he just had lunch with Henri. I'm immediately furious. What is he doing talking to her, going to lunch with her? He's either putting his nose into my business or his intentions are less than honorable. I tell him if he's going to fuck her, he should go right ahead, she's incredible. What I'm really thinking is if he even considers putting his dick anywhere near her, he'll never walk again when I'm done with him.

He tells me he's scared for her. She's lost at least twenty pounds, looks too exhausted to walk. She's working herself to the bone and probably drinking herself silly. I'm trying not to care, I'm trying not to listen. I don't want to think about her, but what he's saying is alarming. Wilson pleads with me to talk to her.

I finally tell him that I miss her and I want her back, I want to talk to her but I'm too angry. He asks me if I love her and I don't say anything. I don't want to tell him that the feelings I have could be that intense. He tells me that if I love her, I should get past myself and talk to her. I tell him she's better off without me; once she gets past the initial hurt, she'll find someone who can give her what she needs. He tells me I'm a fool and if I don't do something soon, I'll be sorry.

I think I already am sorry.


	7. Chapter 7

I come home one day and he's there

I come home one day and he's there. As if it wasn't odd that he should be there, House is standing in the middle of my living room looking at me. I can see he's in shock at the way I look. I feel embarrassed; I always looked my best for him. I'm sure he doen't find me attractive anymore and is regretting coming by. It's been a long day and I'm exhausted. I feel light-headed and have to sit down. I put my head between my knees and take a couple deep breaths. When I look up, he's standing closer, the look on his face shows slight concern. I ask him why he's here. He wants to talk.

Okay, I say, and I tell him to start talking. He feels awkward, I can tell. I wonder how long he's been here. I know he's been looking at everything in the apartment, taking it all in. I want to get up and do something to keep myself busy, but I'm too tired to move. We are silent for a moment before he finally opens his mouth and starts talking.

He tells me that he was a jerk. I can tell he's not enjoying talking to me, letting this come out. He tells me he wasn't sure what to think when I had the miscarriage, it surprised him so much. He thought I was keeping it from him. He thought I was better off without him and would eventually leave him for someone my own age anyway, seeing that he didn't think he could ever marry me and have children with me. He tells me he was angry when it all happened because I'd never needed him before and he didn't know how to be needed; he says he'd always need me more than I needed him.

I'm listening to all of this and my heart feels like it's being torn in two. I would have never known he felt these things, I could have never known. To hear him say these things makes me happy and makes me sad all at the same time. He tells me that when I said I loved him, he figured it was just so he'd believe me when I said I hadn't known about the pregnancy. He didn't think anyone could ever love him, especially me. He says he's afraid of the feelings he has for me and doesn't dare say what they are.

I rise to my feet and walk to him, saying nothing. We lock eyes and look at each other for a moment before I kiss him. It's the best kiss of my life and I hold onto him lest my legs fail me. He wraps his arms around me and deepens the kiss. I feel like I could melt. I feel like I'm getting a drink of water after weeks in the desert and it feels amazing.

I take him to the bedroom. I need him now more than ever. We're both hesitant and slow, fingers shaking and fumbling with buttons and zippers. He kisses me with such tenderness I almost cry. We don't have sex, we don't fuck, we make love and both of us know it. We're gentle to each other, clinging onto each other as if to let go would make it all disappear. I climax three times before he comes, burying his face in my shoulder.

He holds me when we're done, both covered in a sheen of sweat, both satisfied beyond anyone's comprehension. I finally feel relaxed enough to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

xXxXx

I break into her apartment three days after Wilson's talk. I've been tortured by his words, trying to be a man and face her. She'll be home soon, I suppose, it's ten thirty at night and the shop closes at ten. It surprises me that I remembered that. I walk around, taking it all in. I've never been here before and I'm pleasantly surprised at the way it looks. The living room is painted a forest green and there are black and white photographs on the walls in black frames. I look closely at the corner and see her initials; they're her photos and they're quite good.

The couch is of a soft black fabric and sits in front of a fair-sized TV. Her DVD collection sits below it and I see a few titles I actually like. On the end tables on either side of the couch are pictures of her family: dad, mom, two older brothers. On the coffee table there are six bottles of beer, an ashtray filled to the brim with what I assume are the butts of marijuana joints and a couple cigarettes. I hate it when she smokes cigarettes. There are at least thirty bottle caps littered all over the table. The floors are hardwood and she as a black and white checked area rug. In the corner of the room is a small desk with her laptop on it next to a shelf filled with books.

To my right is the kitchen. It's is small with barely any counterspace. There's nowhere for her to sit down and eat, but from the looks of the fridge and inside the cabinets, there's nothing to eat besides rice and a can of soup. It concerns me. Straight through the living room across the front door is her bedroom. There's no door, only a beaded curtain.

The bedroom is a deep crimson with an oatmeal colored rug on the floor. Her bed is a queen-sized mattress and box spring on the floor, no frame. The comforter is black, as are the sheets and pillows. On either side of the bed are nightstands with lamps on them, a clock on the one to my left. Her dresser is to the left and her closet and bathroom to my right. She has movie and music posters on the left-hand wall on either side of the window. Overall, the apartment is cozy but small. I thought I would despise it, but she's made it quite nice for what she has to work with.

I hear the clicking of her key in the lock and I walk into the living room just in time for her to come in and close the door. She sees me and stops in her tracks. I'm in complete shock; she looks emaciated, her skin is ashen and there are dark circles under her sad blue eyes. She looks exhausted and sits down and puts her head between her knees, breathing hard. She's still beautiful and I can't believe it. She's never been any less than perfection for me and when I see her at her worst, she's still amazing.

I walk closer and she raises her head, wanting to know why I'm here. I tell her I just want to talk. I don't really want to talk, but I know I have to. She says okay and tells me to start talking. I feel awkward and I know she knows I've been looking around. There's a moment of silence and I think I might just leave and suddenly I open my mouth and let it all go.

I tell her that I've been a jerk. I hate opening up like this, it makes me angry, but I forge ahead. I tell her I wasn't sure what to think about the miscarriage, it surprised me so much. I thought she was keeping it from me. I tell her I thought she was better off without me and that she'd leave me for someone her own age anyway, seeing that I didn't think I could be the man she could marry and have children with. I tell her how angry I was when it happened because it meant she needed me, and she'd never needed me before. I didn't know how to be needed and I'd always need her more than she needed me.

I'm on a roll and she's looking at me intently, taking it all in. I can't believe I'm telling her these things and I can't believe how gorgeous she is. I want to take her in my arms and never let her out of my sight. These feelings are freaking me out and I feel light-headed. I tell her that when she said she loved me, I thought it was so I'd believe she hadn't known about the pregnancy. I didn't think anyone could ever love me, especially her. I say that I'm afraid of the feelings I have for her and dare not name them.

She gets to her feet and approaches me. We look at each other for a moment and I kiss her. It's the best kiss of my life and she grabs onto me tightly. I wrap my arms around her to keep her from falling, to keep myself from falling. I feel like I'm getting food after a three week hunger strike. Her body feels amazing pressed up against mine and when she takes me into the bedroom I feel exhilirated.

I need her now more than ever. I try to be slow, but if I'm not inside her soon I might die. We fumble with buttons and zippers and I kiss her softly as I push her shirt off her shoulders. We don't have sex, we don't fuck, we make love and both of us know it. We're gentle to each other, clinging onto each other as if to let go would make it all a dream. She climaxes three times before I come, pressing my face into her shoulder as her shudders take me over the edge.

I hold her when we're done, both covered in a sheen of sweat, both satisfied beyond anyone's comprehension. She falls asleep in my arms and I am relieved. She looked so exhausted, so frail, I feared for her. Now is the only time I can tell her I love her and I do because I'm a coward and won't do it when she's awake.


	8. Chapter 8

My eyes drift open slowly

My eyes drift open slowly. I'm in bed and the sheets are rumpled; they smell like sex and House. I smile and turn over to look at the clock. It's eight twenty three at night. I've slept almost twenty four full hours and I feel better than I have in a long time. He's not in bed with me, but there's a note on the pillow where he should be. It says he had to go to work and if I wake up before seven, he wanted me to stay in bed until he returned. I hear bumping around in the kitchen and get out of bed, wrapping my naked self up in a red silk robe.

I see House in my kitchen, struggling to get my can opener to work. I smile and watch him attempt to get the soup can open. The thing has been broken for weeks, ever since I got drunk and couldn't get it to work fast enough and I hurled it across the room, bending the circular blade. I giggle and he looks up, surprised and then irritated. He tells me to get back into bed and he can handle a stupid soup can. I tell him the opener is broken and he slams the can on the counter and points to the door and demands I get back into bed. I smile and let my robe open until it's sliding off my shoulders. He stops and stares and I know he wants me again.

He surprises me and tells me no more House loving without some food in my stomach. I gather the robe around me and take the opener from his hand and hold it in such a way that it works again and the can is open. It's chicken noodle soup. I can see he's trying to be sweet, the kind of guy that gives his woman some soup when she's sick. I pour the soup into the pot on the stove and flip on the burner. He looks irritated, like his attempt is a failure. House hates failure. I smile at him and walk away, back into the bedroom.

I'm in bed and can't help but giggle. I'd never envisioned House trying to make anything other than a peanut butter sandwich. I look up and he's hobbling in with a mug in his hand. He hands it to me and pulls a spoon from his shirt's breast pocket. He turns and leaves and returns with a baguette, demanding I have some to fill me up. I tell him it's cute that he's trying to be caring.

I eat the soup and six pieces of bread with butter; I had no idea I was so hungry. House apparently ordered groceries on Stop & Shop's Pea Pod. I had no idea he knew how to do something like that or that he was concerned enough to buy me groceries.

We make love again and spend the rest of the evening in bed talking.

xXxXx

I wake up early, around seven. Henri is still curled up beside me, her face buried in my neck. She looks peaceful and I'm glad she's finally resting. I feel as if the turmoil that's been whirling around in my head is finally at some sort of peace. I kiss her forehead, something I've never done but quite like.

I get up and pull on my clothes from yesterday. I have to go to work and leave her there, curled up in bed. I've done this many times, but this time is the hardest. I don't want to miss her waking up, but duty calls and I leave her a note telling her to stay in bed; I've never bothered to leave her a note.

The day goes by like every second is an hour. I'm irritable, much more than usual and Wilson wants to know what's going on. I tell him about my reunion with Henri and he's pleased. He finds my concern for her hilarious, as he's never seen me worried about anything or anyone in the span of our friendship. I ask him, not very nicely, to go buy groceries for her as I can't load it all on my motorcycle. He tells me to order it online and proceeds to show me how.

I get back to her apartment after picking up some clothes at my place and am just in the door when the delivery service arrives. I make the driver bring it all up and tell him if he wakes Henri up, I'll find out where he lives and give him Ebola.

I'm bumping around trying to figure out where everything goes and put it all away slowly, bit by bit. I find a can of chicken noodle soup, not because it's the stereotypical food to give to the ailing but because it's filling and yet gentle for her stomach. I find her can opener and attempt to open the can and find that it has difficulty functioning. I'm struggling to get the can to open and getting frustrated.

I hear Henri laugh behind me and I turn to see her in the doorway, looking refreshed and wearing a sexy silk robe. I tell her to get back in bed. I'm trying to be the nice guy I've never been, trying to show her I can be a decent man. She tells me the opener is broken, as if I haven't figured it out on my own. I'm perturbed and slam the can down on the counter in my anger, point to the door and demand she get back in bed.

Henri just smiles at me and lets her robe open and fall off, exposing her naked body. I want her, I want to take her here and now and if I were a younger, stronger man I would have her up against the wall. I can see the shadow of her ribs and harness my raging libido. I tell her no House loving until she ate something. She looks disappointed, but covers up and opens the can, pours the soup into the pot and turns the knob, setting the burner to medium heat.

I'm angry that she had to help me. She smiles and walks away, but she knows I hate that she had to do it for me. The soup heats up and I pour some into a mug, the only receptacle I could hold properly. I slip a spoon into my pocket and hobble in to give it to her. She thinks I'm being cute. I'm just trying to make sure she doesn't pass out from starvation.

She eats and I undress her and have her again and we spend the rest of the night naked in bed.


	9. Chapter 9

We've been in a state of completely satisfied bliss for two months. Things are back to the way they were, but better. He wants me around constantly and we're in bed constantly. I bring him his lunch every day and make him dinner every night. We alternate between our two apartments, although we're in his more often. He's much more affectionate without being overbearing.

Tonight is the annual benefit gala poker tournament and House is actually excited. He and I have been playing online poker together for weeks, prepping. I'm quite excited myself; it's an opportunity for me to quell all the rumors I'm sure are floating around about me being some young, uneducated little hussy just trying to get House's money. I've got an incredible dress and can't wait for him to see me.

I'm getting ready now, excited at how my makeup is turning out. I've managed to make myself look a touch older without caking too much of the stuff on. I've done my own hair, curling it and giving myself a side-part like a 1950s movie star. My dress is long and black with thin straps, a plunging v-neckline and a back that exposes me all the way down to the small of my back. I've got strappy black stilettos, something I know House will love and I wear no jewelry except for a pair of diamond studs my parents got me for my college graduation.

I want to surprise him and so I put on a long trench coat that covers everything. I go to pick him up, butterflies in my stomach. I've never seen House in anything other than his wrinkled t-shirts and jeans.

I pick him up in my car and am immediately turned on when he steps out onto the sidewalk. He looks dashing, better than any 007 I've ever seen. He's pressed and polished and perfect. He gets in the car and I can't help but smile from ear to ear. He tries to suppress a grin and asks me what the hell I'm looking at.

We arrive and he's wondering why I'm wearing such a long coat in May. We get inside and I take off my coat to check it and turn to him. He's staring at me, speechless. It's exactly the effect I was looking for.

When we enter the main room, I feel like all eyes are on us. I think everyone is amazed that House managed to find a date, especially one that isn't a hooker. I smile and take his arm and we slowly make our way to the bar. House has a scotch, I have champagne. We spot Wilson talking to Foreman and several others. He doesn't want to talk to them, but I make him walk over with me.

Wilson kisses me on the cheek and I smile briefly at Foreman, the blond man and a brunette woman. The blond is introduced to me as Dr. Chase, a man who worked with House for a number of years. He's very handsome and I can feel his eyes on me and see that he's surprised that I would be with House. The other man, who I assume is Indian, is Dr. Kutner and the woman is introduced only as Thirteen. We exchange pleasantries and introductions and House is sarcastic as always.

Cuddy, looking amazing, along with another brunette woman, approach us. The woman is introduced as Dr. Cameron, another colleague. Cuddy starts trash talking to House, trying to get him over to the poker tables. She's smiling and I think she's had a few glasses of champagne already. I'm not feeling lucky tonight, so I let him be carted off by the two women. I know he'll be attached to the table all night and I promise him I'll see him soon, giving him a kiss goodbye.

The gaggle of doctors before me look surprised but are trying to hide it. Wilson is smiling, glad to see the two of us so happy. Foreman shakes his head and walks away, obviously disapproving of my relationship with House. Thirteen and Kutner turn to conversation with themselves.

Wilson, Chase and I sit down at a table and I remark how great everyone looks. Wilson sees someone he has to speak with and leaves me with Chase. We're both awkward for a moment before he starts telling me a story about the gala from a few years ago, when they had a six year old boy with strange symptoms and had to work on him in their formal wear. I laugh and turn to the tables where House sits with Cuddy and Cameron, one on either side, playing poker. Cameron gives me a strange look and then turns to House. I press my lips together, a sudden pang of jealousy surprising me. I excuse myself from Chase and start toward the table.

xXxXx

We've been happy for two months. Things are back to the way they were, but better. She wants me around constantly and we're in bed constantly. She brings me lunch every day and cooks me dinner every night. We alternate between our two apartments, although we're in mine most often. She's very affectionate without being overbearing.

Tonight is the annual benefit gala poker tournament and I'm actually excited. Henri and I have been playing online poker together for weeks, prepping. I'm determined to beat Cuddy so badly she's embarrassed. I don't dress up often, but I like the way I look in my tuxedo and I'm sure Henri will like it, too. I can't wait to see her; I'm going to keep her up all night in bed tonight.

I'm also eager for everyone to see me walk in with Henri, a beautiful, young, educated woman who is in no way a hooker. I'm proud to be with Henri anywhere we go, whether it's on the motorcycle, in a bar, in bed, or at a black tie benefit.

She picks me up in her old Jeep and I find the contrast funny; an older man, younger woman, in an old crappy Jeep, well dressed and heading to a black tie event. She smiles when she sees me and it gives me an ego boost. I know I look good. Her face is angelic, but I can't see what she's wearing and that means she wants to make a grand entrance. She's smiling at me and I try my best to suppress a smile.

We arrive and at the coat check, she reveals exactly what she's been hiding. I can't speak, all I can do is stare. The dress hugs every delicious curve and I can tell she isn't wearing a bra. The back of the dress plunges down to the small of her back and her ass looks amazing. I can imagine how she'll look with those stilettos on and nothing else later tonight, her legs in the air. It's all I can do to not turn around and make her take us back to my apartment.

When we enter the main room, I feel like all eyes are on us. Or, actually, Henri. They're all looking at her and I know it's because she's stunning and she's with me, of all people. She takes my arm and she slows her gait to accommodate me as we walk to the bar. I have a scotch, she has champagne. We spot Wilson, Foreman and Chase and Henri waves and makes me go talk to them with her.

Wilson kisses her on the cheek and she smiles as she's introduced to Chase, who looks surprised. I know he was expecting some little high school looking thing, chewing gum with long fake fingernails and teased hair. He's looking at what's mine and wishes he could have it and I wish I could laugh in his face.

Cuddy and Cameron approach, they both look beautiful but not quite at the same level as Henri. There are more introductions and I can tell Cuddy's been drinking. She starts telling me that she's going to take me to the cleaners in poker tonight, completely annihilate me. She and Cameron whisk me away to a table and I kiss Henri and she promises to make her way to me soon.

I'm up with a lot of chips and pocket aces in my hands, three of a kind on the river, when I look up and see Henri laughing at something Chase has said. They're alone together and Chase has that damned magnetic smile of his on his face. Henri is glowing and looks amazing and I feel a cold stab of jealousy. Should I be surprised that they find each other attractive? They're both good looking enough to be models. I look to my left and Cameron is looking at something in that direction, but then she looks back at me and smiles. I'm angry and take a gulp of my scotch.

xXxXx

Author's Note: I didn't add Dr. Taub because I didn't feel like it. Deal with it. On another note, I know I jump around with time a lot, but that's how this story is going to go. I'm not trying to stay on one set timeline, but I jump weeks and sometimes months into the future. I don't really care, it just helps me write without getting bored.


	10. Chapter 10

I put my hands on House's shoulders and smile at Cameron, but with venom in my eyes. She doesn't look happy and I bend down and kiss his ear. He grunts as the dealer flips the last card: House has a full boat, trip aces and two kings. I finish the last sip of my third glass of champagne. House wins the hand and Chase comes up behind me with another glass of champagne, handing it to me. I thank him and House slams his fists against the table and stands.

Everyone looks at him with wide eyes and he looks at me, angry. He tells Chase he might as well just grab my breasts since he's been staring at them all night. He limps away and I stare after him, shocked.

What on earth is he thinking? I chase after him as fast as I can in heels. I'm buzzed and getting more and more upset by the moment. I finally catch up to him at the bar, where he's getting himself another scotch.

I ask him what the hell he's thinking, storming off like that and leaving the poker table when he was up. He looks at me, angry, and takes a swig of his scotch. He tells me to go fuck Chase, we looked like a cute couple. I laugh out of the absurdity.

Why would I want Chase, I ask him, and I tell him I'm here with him and have eyes only for him. He scoffs and I mention Cameron and the look she gave me… and the look she gave him. He says Cameron's just jealous that I'm prettier than she is.

I tell him if I wanted a pretty boy like Chase, I could have him. I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer to me, looking him right in the eyes. I tell him he's the man I want and I tell him I'll show him just how much I want him when we get home.

He sighs, giving in to my charm. He tells me he sees Cameron as nothing more than an attractive coworker; she may wish she was more, but he assures me he doesn't want her. His hand rests on the upper curve of my butt and he brings me closer to him. We kiss and we don't care that there are hundreds of people around us. I want him and need him and love him with every part of me.

There's a beautiful song playing and I take his hand and lead him to the dance floor. He's trying to convince me he doesn't want to and isn't able to dance. He tells me he wouldn't be caught dead dancing in front of these people. I tell him to shut up and we dance slowly, awkwardly, but I don't care. He holds me close with the arm not glued to the cane and I rest my head on his shoulder.

I've never known someone to make me feel so safe and cherished and yet so uncertain and frustrated. I see Wilson in the crowd and smile. I breathe his smell and sigh, contented. Everyone's watching us, surprised to see House actually dancing.

He tells me he wants to take me home, he wants me now. I laugh and tell him we have to say goodbye, but he won't have any of that. He grabs my wrist and we head for the door, only slowing down to grab my coat.

At his apartment, we haven't even gotten the door open yet. I'm against the wall and we're making out, his hand on my breast. Jealousy, apparently, is the best aphrodisiac either of us could have thought of ourselves. In the apartment, we barely get our clothes off and we end up on the floor. He has me keep the stilettos on and we have the most passionate sex of our relationship.

xXxXx

Henri comes over to me and puts both hands on my shoulders. She bends down and kisses my ear; I grunt. I'm irritated with her and it gets worse when Chase comes up behind her and hands her a fresh glass of champagne. She thanks him in that sweet voice of hers and I slam my fists on the table in frustration and get up from the table. I tell Chase he might as well grab Henri's breasts since he's been staring at them all night anyway. I walk away.

She catches up with me at the bar, where I order another scotch. She asks me what I was thinking, storming off like that. I take a gulp of my scotch and tell her to go fuck Chase, they look like a cute couple. She laughs and tells me she doesn't want Chase. She asks me why I would think she wanted Chase when I know she has eyes only for me.

I scoff and she tells me Cameron was giving her devil eyes and then looking at me with an emotion she could only pinpoint as want. I tell her Cameron is just jealous that she isn't as pretty as Henri. I can't imagine Cameron having any sort of feelings for me, especially with the way I've treated her for these past few years.

She tells me that if she wanted a pretty boy like Chase, she'd have him and I believe her. Why wouldn't she want Chase, Mr. Good-Looking Doctor with an Accent? And why wouldn't he want her? She's incredibly gorgeous. She grabs me by the front of my jacket and pulls me close, looking me straight in the eyes. She says I'm the man she wants and she'll show me when we get home.

I sigh, giving into her. I tell her Cameron is nothing more than an attractive coworker; she may wish she was more, but I don't want her. I rest my hand on the top curve of her ass and pull her to me. We kiss and we don't care that there are hundreds of people around us. I want her and need her and, though I will never let on that I do, love her with every part of me.

She grabs my hand and tries to lead me out to the dance floor; there's some slow song playing. I don't want to dance, not here, in front of nearly everyone I know, an old, crippled man trying to dance with his young, vibrant date. I tell her I don't want to, let alone am able to, dance. I say I'd rather be caught dead than have these people see me dance.

She tells me to shut up and we start dancing slowly, awkwardly. I hold her with one arm, the other still on my cane. She rests her head on my shoulder and I can smell just a hint of her perfume. I've never known someone to make me feel so safe and cherished and yet so uncertain and frustrated. I see Wilson in the crowd and scowl; he smiles. Everyone's watching us, surprised to see me dancing.

I tell her I want to take her home, I want her now. She laughs and says we need to say goodbye to everyone but I'm not dealing with that bullshit; it'll take us an hour to get out of here if that's the case. I grab her by the wrist and pull her to the door, barely stopping long enough for her to get her coat.

At my apartment, we haven't even gotten the door open yet. She's against the wall and we're making out, my hand on her breast. Jealousy, apparently, is the best aphrodisiac either of us could have thought of ourselves. In the apartment, we barely get our clothes off and we end up on the floor. I have her keep the stilettos on, another aphrodisiac, and we have the most passionate sex of our relationship.


	11. Chapter 11

House is sitting in my living room, waiting for me. I've got a surprise for him, strange because my birthday is in two days and he's the one who should be surprising me. I don't expect anything from him, really, except I do hope we at least go to dinner. I'm wearing an outfit I know he'll love, one that is skin tight and barely covers my ass. Our sex life is one I've never experienced with other men; we're together at least once a day, usually more.

I'm just putting on the finishing touches of my outfit when I hear someone knocking. I shout to House to see who it is and hear murmuring. Curious, I walk out into the living room.

The sight that I'm confronted with stops me in my tracks. My mother, father, two older brothers, sister in-law and my niece are all standing by the door, staring at me. House is smiling, trying to stop himself from laughing. My parents are shocked and my brothers are laughing. My sister in-law, Sherry, covers my niece's eyes.

I'm standing in my living room in a naughty cop outfit, complete with knee-high stiletto boots and handcuffs. My breasts are in an extra padded push-up bra and I'm not wearing any underwear. My jaw drops.

My brother Jeremy asks what's up, barely able to keep a straight face. I can feel my cheeks are bright red. House, amused, goes into the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee. My mother, mortified, asks me who the hell that man is. My other brother, Joseph, asks me who the man is, laughing.

House pipes in, saying he's my much older doctor boyfriend and asks if anyone would like some coffee. My father looks furious, my brothers ask for coffee and my niece runs up and gives me a hug, grabbing me around the legs.

My father asks if this is what I'm doing with my time, in the apartment he pays for. I see House sneak behind them and waves goodbye at me before he exits the apartment. I sigh. I never intended to introduce him to my parents; I know it's not his thing. I hear his motorcycle start and I hear it zip down the street.

I tell my family I'm going to go change and my mother says that I'd better. When I come back out, my father wants to know who the older man with the cane really was. Was I into prostitution? Was that what my expensive education brought me?

I tell him no, that House really is my boyfriend and I'm in love with him. I tell him that he's a brilliant doctor and the best man I've ever known. My mother starts crying. My brothers and sister in-law take my niece out, saying they're heading back to the hotel and will see me later. I ask my parents why they're here.

It's my birthday in two days and they wanted to surprise me. My father tells me House is taking advantage of me, of his young, impressionable daughter. I tell him that he doesn't even know him, age isn't an issue in our relationship. My mother asks how old he is and when I tell her, a new batch of tears well up in her eyes.

My father tells me to break it off, or else. I tell him I'm an adult, almost twenty three years old and he has no right to tell me what to do. He says he can stop payment on my apartment. They get up to leave and he says he'll see me at dinner at seven in the hotel. He hopes I've taken care of the issue at hand by that time.

Angry, I call House.

xXxXx

I'm sitting on the couch in Henri's apartment. She has a surprise for me, although I can't imagine what. It's two days until her birthday and as it approaches, I become more and more nervous. I have a surprise for her and I'm not sure I'm ready for it. I'm taking her to an incredibly fancy dinner and I hope she wears something as sexy as the dress she wore to the benefit. We had sex three times that night and once again in the morning; I was exhausted at work the next day, but it was worth it.

There's a sudden knock on the door and Henri shouts at me to get it. I ride and open the door and the sight I'm confronted with makes me freeze.

I've seen enough of her pictures around her apartment to know it's her family. They ask me if Henri is here and I say yes and let them in. I hear the clicking of high heels on the hardwood floor and turn around.

Henri is standing in the doorway of her bedroom wearing a skintight naughty cop uniform. Her black boots go to her knees and her breasts have been pushed up and are spilling out of the front of the uniform. I see the handcuffs on her belt and see exactly what she'd had in mind. I'm angry we've been interrupted, but can't help but find the situation hilarious. She stands there, red in the face, her mouth open.

The entire family seems to be laughing except for her parents, who are staring at her in horror, and a little girl who looks about four years old, who seems not to understand what is going on. I hobble into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. I can hear them asking her who I am.

I peek out and tell them I'm her much older doctor boyfriend, then ask them if they want coffee before going back into the kitchen and pouring myself a cup. I never wanted to meet her parents because I knew this was going to happen. I drink my coffee and sneak out of the apartment behind her family, waving to Henri as I go. I get on my motorcycle and head to my apartment to wait it out.

I look once more into the box I plan on giving her at dinner. I've never given a woman something like this before and it scares the hell out of me. The fact that I care about her also scares the hell out of me, as does the sudden presence of her family; it doesn't bode well.

When I get the angry and upset call from her a mere twenty minutes after I left, I know things aren't going to go the way I planned.


	12. Chapter 12

I'm miserable. My parents have given me an ultimatum. They've given them to me before; I'm no stranger to them. I was a rebellious child and in certain ways I still am. I've never been faced with an ultimatum that I seriously can't make a real decision on. I love House, more than I've ever loved anyone, and I'm beginning to think he's "The One." I've never thought I believed in "The One" until I met him.

What am I going to do, however, if I lose my apartment and my family? An apartment is one thing, I can try to find a full time job so I can afford one, but my family is irreplaceable. I talked to House about it once my parents left and he assured me things would turn out okay. I promised I'd see him after the dinner with my parents and let him know what was going on.

I'm dressed conservatively, in a blue scoop-neck dress with short sleeves that hits below my knees. My shoes are flats and my makeup is minimal. I want to give the impression that I'm not in a naughty cop outfit all day. I can't believe that my entire family has come down to Jersey for my birthday. I'm irritated. I wish we could have avoided the whole thing.

I arrive and they're all already sitting at the table. My niece, Alexis, jumps from her seat and comes to give me a hug. She asks me why I was dressed up before, since Halloween is a long time away. I tell her I was going to a costume party. She says I was pretty and I can't help but laugh.

I've barely sit down and my father is already asking me if I've made a decision about my little mistake. I tell the waiter to get me something strong; a Long Island iced tea. I don't drink hard alcohol for the pure reason that it makes me crazy and it makes me puke. I tell my father that there's no mistake to correct, my life is exactly the way I want it to be.

My mother looks drawn, pale, unhappy. I wasn't paying attention to her when she came to the apartment, and now I notice that she's lost a significant amount of weight and looks tired. I look at her and tell her that I'm happy, my life is wonderful and I'm with the man I love. My father tells me I must be confused. He asks me how old House really is. I tell him it's not important; what is important is that we care about each other and we make each other happy.

The only hiatus in my father's attack on me and my personal choices is when the waiter takes our orders. When the waiter leaves, it starts back up.

He tells me if I continue such a relationship, I can forget about any more rent payments. I don't care, I can get a job, I have a college education. House is the one I want and he can go to hell if he's trying to get me to compromise myself.

My brother Jeremy says he seemed nice, and so did his cane. Joseph starts laughing and Sherry hits him on the shoulder, hard. I tell Jeremy, venom in my voice, that the muscle in House's leg had to be amputated because of an infraction and he is in constant pain because of it. I tell him he should think about something like that before making judgment. I tell them that House is an incredibly brilliant doctor, that he's caring and exactly the kind of man I want to be with.

Out of nowhere, House pipes in and tells me to stop telling lies. I'm shocked that he's here, and I can see my parents are shocked too. He pulls up a chair and sits between my father and I, clapping my father on the back and asking him how he's doing. I ask House what the hell he's thinking, coming here. He kisses me on the cheek and says he has something that can't wait until my birthday.

He pulls out a long, thin velvet box and my cheeks are getting red. He hands me the box and I look at him, straight into his sky blue eyes and he looks nervous. I open the box and there's a diamond bracelet sitting on the velvet, blinking at me beautifully in the candlelight. My heart is pounding and I look at the end of the bracelet, where a single brass key sits.

I look up at him and he asks me if I'll do him the honor of moving in with him. I gasp and throw my arms around his neck. This is more than I ever could have hoped for, more than I ever could have asked. I know part of him is doing this to show my family that their money doesn't mean anything and that he's an honorable man.

My father, always the mood killer, asks House if I understand that he's taking advantage of a beautiful young girl. House tells him he's fully aware, but last time he checked, I had a fully functioning brain and seemed to be a relatively intelligent young lady. My father tells me not to make a mistake, to not move in with House. I tell him I fully intend on taking House up on his offer, so he has nothing else to hold over my head.

My father tells me he didn't come down here to be disrespected. At this point, my entire family has been watching in silence, Alexis being the only one not paying attention, instead focusing in on her buttered pasta.

House asks my father what he did, in fact, come down for. It's my twenty third birthday, not a very significant one. He says it may not be unusual for parents to visit a child on a birthday, unless they hadn't visited on the previous ones, especially with the entire family. I think about what he's saying and he's right. My family hasn't visited for a birthday since I moved down to Jersey for college. My brothers have never been down at all. My parents live in Connecticut and my brothers are in New York and Pennsylvania, respectively.

My father is steamed and the rest of my family is silent and won't look at me. I ask him why, why would everyone come down for my birthday? My father shakes his head and calls House an asshole. I shout at my father, telling him not to tell House he's an asshole and answer the question. My father and I start shouting, he telling me I don't know my place and me telling him he can't receive respect without giving it.

During the fight, my mother looks up, her face blank, and she says three words that immediately silence the table:

I have cancer.

xXxXx

I'm on my way to the hotel where I know Henri is eating dinner with her parents. The fact that her parents are threatening her with eviction unless she breaks it off with me is a threat to me and my happiness. I'm not about to let this happen, but what I'm about to do is making me want to turn around and let them dine in peace.

The box in my pocket feels like it weighs a ton. I'm afraid to give it to her, afraid she'll hate it, but my gut tells me it's the thing I really want to do. I walk into the hotel, past the front desk and past the maitre'd, who wants to know if he can help me. He can go to hell.

I can hear Henri defending me to her father. She's bitching out her brother for making fun of my cane, telling him what happened to me, why I'm a pathetic cripple. She tells them I'm a brilliant doctor and that I'm caring and that I'm exactly the kind of man she wants to be with. The box in my pocket doesn't feel so awful anymore, and I walk over to the table and tell her to stop telling lies.

Her family is obviously shocked that I've shown up uninvited, but I sit down and ask her father how he's doing, smacking him on the back like we're friends. Henri asks me what I'm thinking. I kiss her cheek and I tell her there's something I need to give her that can't wait until her birthday.

I hand her the box and she looks at me, in shock. I hold my breath as she opens it and takes a look at the 5,000 diamond bracelet I bought her. I watch her eyes move down the chain and she sees the key I had made for her this afternoon, after I got off the phone with her. I didn't even think about it, I just did it, which is completely unlike me. As it was being cut, I knew I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to fall asleep next to her every night and wake up to her every morning. I wanted to come home to her after a long day and have her be there, ready to talk to. Fuck her father for thinking that cutting her off would keep me from her.

I ask her to do me the honor of moving in with me. She hugs me and I feel better, the smell of her and the feel of her in my arms putting me at ease. Her father doesn't let me bask in my glory.

He asks if I know I'm taking advantage of a young girl. I tell him I was well aware, but last time I checked, Henri had a fully functioning brain and seemed to be a relatively intelligent young lady. Her father tells her not to make a mistake, to not move in with me. She tells him she fully intends on taking me up on my offer, so he has nothing else to hold over her head.

Her father says he didn't come down to be disrespected and suddenly the wheels in my head begin turning. At this point the entire family has been watching this scenario unfold in silence. The little girl, Henri's niece, is busy talking to her menagerie of plastic animals arranged around her bowl of pasta.

I ask her father what he did, in fact, come down for. It's Henri's twenty third birthday, not a very significant one. I say it may not be unusual for parents to visit a child on a birthday, unless they hadn't visited on the previous ones, especially with the entire family. From what I've gathered from previous conversations, I know they're from Connecticut and haven't visited since her graduation and before that, had only visited twice. There must be something up.

Henri turns to her father, who looks furious, and asks him why the whole family came down. Her father shakes his head and calls me an asshole, like I haven't heard that at least once a day for the past twenty years of my life. Henri shouts at her father, telling him not to tell me I'm an asshole and answer the question. Henri and her father start shouting, he telling her she doesn't know her place and she telling him he can't receive respect without giving it.

During the fight, I see her mother, who is pale and too thin, look up, her face blank, and she says three words that immediately silence the table:

I have cancer.


	13. Chapter 13

Pancreatic cancer. Six months to live, max. No one knew except my parents, they gathered us all here to tell us. Jeremy starts to cry, the rest of us are silent. I look to House, always a wealth of information. He looks at me gravely and tells me only five percent of those diagnosed with it are alive five years later. My whole body is cold, I feel strange.

I look at her now and she seems resigned to it. I see now how frail she really looks. House gives his condolences and tells my mother that if there's anything he can do for her, he has no problem doing it.

My mother smoked for twenty years of her life, quitting only after I was born. She's also had gallstones most of her life, another risk factor. She's got stomach and back pains and has no appetite; she's exhausted, she has jaundice. It's end stage, which means the cancer has reached other organs.

House flags over the waiter and gives him his credit card to pay for the meal, a gesture that both surprises me and endears me. I'm not sure what to think or say. I finish my second drink in a gulp and start coughing, nearly choking on it. I think of the pain my mother will soon be in, I think of how she will die in a hospital bed way before her time, in constant pain.

I want to know why they're telling us now, when there's so little time, when it's so close to my birthday. My father says it's because they found out only two weeks ago. House says pancreatic cancer is usually not caught until stage four, when there's little to no time left.

I tell my father I'm sorry that this visit wasn't what he wanted it to be. In a daze, I get up from the table and as I get closer and closer to the door of the hotel, I can feel my lungs and my throat tightening. I stumble out of the hotel and reach a bus stop bench just in time for a full-on panic attack. I can't breathe, my head feels like it's floating and my hands and feet feel freezing. My heart is pounding and as I gasp for air, House sits next to me and yells at me to breathe, to calm down.

I struggle to calm myself down. House grabs my face in both hands and tells me to calm down again. I take a deep, shaking breath and slowly begin to calm myself. I tell him I'm sorry, he tells me not to be. He says he's going to see me home, he told my family I'd call them first thing in the morning. I tell him I need to grab my purse and he's thought of that already.

He follows me to my apartment and we sit on the couch in silence for a while. My mother has cancer and she's going to die. She'll never see me get married and have children, she'll never see Alexis grow up and graduate high school, she'll never see Joseph and Sherry's future children, she'll never grow old with my father. I don't say any of these things.

I ask no one in particular why this happened. House sighs, having no answers I want to hear, and just tells me it happens every day.

I rest against him, my back against his chest. I feel his heart beating and it makes me feel safe. I ask him if he's afraid to die and of course, he tells me he isn't. I ask him if there's anything we can do for my mother and he tells me there's nothing, all we can do is wait. I say what a horrible thing it is and he agrees.

I feel like I should cry, like Jeremy did, show some remorse, show some sadness. I say this and House tells me that I will, when I'm ready, when it's really sunk in.

xXxXx

Pancreatic cancer. Six months to live, max. Facts and numbers rush through my head. Nearly 37,000 cases in the US every year and it's essentially a death sentence. The parents brought the entire family down to Jersey to tell them about it. Henri looks to me, looking for some beacon of hope I can't give her. I tell her that only five percent of people diagnosed with it are alive five years later. It's news no one wants to know, but I say it anyway because it's all I can say. I'm not about to give anyone false hope.

Her mother looks frail, slowly deteriorating. I give her my condolences and tell her that if there's anything I can do, I'll do it. I mean it. One of Henri's brothers is crying.

Her mother goes on to tell everyone that it was most likely caused by her pack a day smoking habit she kept on with for twenty years and the gallstones that have plagued her for years. She has stomach and back pain, no appetite, jaundice, exhaustion, weight loss. These are all common symptoms of the disease. She'll be lucky if she makes it past four months. She'll continue on a downward slope until the pain is so intense she's never awake. She'll be in pain for a long, long time and it will become more severe as she comes closer to death.

I flag over the waiter and pay for the meal. I see Henri gulp down her drink and she stands, unsteadily, and starts walking out of the dining room. I tell her family that I'm going to see that Henri gets home, it's a lot to take in, and that I'll see that she calls them first thing in the morning. I grab her purse and hobble after her. I'm glad to get the hell out of there. I had no idea I was heading full force into a whirlpool of complete shit. I figured I'd show her family what's what in our relationship and shut her father up. I got a lot more than I bargained for.

I find Henri sitting on a bench, hyperventilating. It's an incredibly difficult thing to handle, finding out the person who brought you into the world, who cared for you when you were sick and who has always been a constant in your life is dying. She can't take a full breath and I yell at her to calm down and take a normal breath. She can't seem to do it and so I grab her face and look into her eyes and firmly tell her again to calm down.

She finally starts to breathe normally and tells me she's sorry. I tell her not to be. I tell her we'll go back to her apartment, I have her purse, I told her family she'd call them tomorrow. She needs time away from the situation to think about it and bring it into perspective. I follow her home.

We sit on the couch for a while, saying nothing, her back pressed against my chest. I feel her heart beating and it makes me feel safe. She asks me why this happened and I sigh. I have no answers she wants to hear, so I tell her it happens every day.

She asks me if I'm afraid to die and of course, I tell her I'm not; I'm not telling the complete truth. I'm afraid of dying and being thought of some angry old bastard who may have been incredibly intelligent and cured a lot of people, but never had anything real in his life. She asks me if there's anything we can do for her mother and I tell her there's nothing, all we can do is wait. She says what a horrible thing it is and I agree.

She feels like she should cry, like Jeremy did, show some remorse, show some sadness. I tell her that she will, when she's ready, when it's really sunk in.


	14. Chapter 14

I wake up next to House, cradled in his arms. I kiss his bare shoulder and then stare at him, willing him to wake up. It only takes a few minutes before his eyes flutter open and I see his pupils adjust to the light change. His eyebrows furrow and he growls before telling me I'm a fucking nut job and I should keep my eyes to myself when he's sleeping. He rolls onto me, crushing me as punishment, and sees he has an hour to get to work.

He gets up, groaning, and I know his leg is hurting him today and that means he'll be grumpy. As he walks to the shower, he tells me to call my parents when it's a decent hour. I get up, too, and tell him I'll call them when I'm done in the shower and I join him. It's calming to me to try and retain some form of normalcy.

He leaves and I lie down in the sheets and smell them, like I always do when he's gone. I call into work and tell my boss that there's a family emergency and I can't come in. I have the next three days off as well and I know he's a little irritated, but he owes me after all the overtime I put in when House and I broke up. I know I'm getting on his last nerve and he'll fire me soon if I don't stop calling out, but it's not my concern right now.

I call my parent's hotel room and apologize for last night. I ask them to come out for lunch at the tavern House and I always go to; I ask for just the two of them to come. I pick them up and we don't say much during the ride.

As we walk in, the bartender, Sal, greets me and I introduce him to my parents; I'm sure it disturbs them slightly that I'm known on a first name basis in a bar. We sit and I apologize again. My mother pats my hand and she tells me it's okay, it doesn't matter. She says my father has something to say.

My father sighs and tells me he's sorry for the things he said about my friend. I press my lips together, trying to be a calm adult, and tell him Dr. Gregory House is not my friend; he's my boyfriend. My father ignores this and tells me he did some research. I drop my head to the table and groan. What research could he possibly have done?

He goes on to tell me about the number of lawsuits against House, about the investigation into his Vicodin addiction, about being expelled from Johns Hopkins for cheating, about his reputation for a bad attitude. He tells me how old he is. He also tells me about the number of people he's saved, his reputation for his brilliance and being one of the best doctors in the country. I tell my parents that House has a rough exterior, and he's not the nicest man in the world, but he's the one I'm in love with and the one I'm happy with.

My mother puts her hand on my father's arm and shakes her head at him when he starts to say something. She looks at me and tells me she just wants me happy and she's glad to see that I am. There's a moment of silence and I get serious. I look up at her and tell her I'm sorry she's sick. She smiles her tired smile and she tells me she's okay with it.

I ask her how she could be okay with it, when she knows she doesn't have all the time she needs. She says she has enough time to do the things she wants to do. She says she's going to make the most of her time while she can, she's going to keep going until her body doesn't let her go anymore. My father is crying silently; I wish I could muster up some tears. She says she's accepted it and it's giving her the chance to actually _live_.

They're leaving tomorrow afternoon and my mother promises she'll keep in touch. While she's here, though, she wants to get to know House a little better, so she knows that I'm being left in capable hands. I tell her to stay, that she can get treatment at PPTH, that Dr. Wilson is the best oncologist I know; I don't tell her that he's the only one I know. She smiles that smile and tells me everything has been taken care of and she's happy with all the decisions that have been made.

I'm not happy with anything in this situation.

xXxXx

I open my eyes and as soon as they focus I see Henri lying there, staring at me. I growl, annoyed, and tell her she's a fucking nut job and should keep her eyes to herself when I'm sleeping. I roll over onto her to crush her as punishment and see I need to be at work soon; I have clinic hours.

I sit up and groan. My leg is killing me today and it makes me grumpy; I know I'm about to be an asshole for the rest of the day. As I walk to the shower, I tell her to call her parents as soon as the hour is decent. She says she will, as soon as she's out of the shower and I smile. I love it when she's in the shower with me. It calms me as well as turns me on.

I leave for work in a foul mood. I didn't want to leave her, especially after such an insane night. Cuddy accosts me the moment I walk into the hospital, telling me I have a patient waiting. It's some idiot with a stye he wouldn't stop picking at, causing his eyelid to become inflamed and infected. I tell him there's no choice but to amputate his eye and that the nurse will be in shortly to fit him with a glass one. I walk out of the room as he sputters and hand a nurse a prescription of antibiotic cream to give to him.

After diagnosing a pregnancy, pneumonia, a baby's ear infection and a stomach ulcer, I hobble up to my office for lunch. I have to make myself a peanut butter and jelly, since I know Henri won't be stopping by with something homemade, like chicken salad or pasta with chicken and pesto.

Wilson visits and I tell him about Henri's parents. He laughs when I tell him about the naughty cop incident and is serious when I tell him about her mother. He hopes Henri understands there's nothing that can be done and I say I've made sure of it, but somehow I don't think I have.

Cuddy interrupts me and tells me to get my ass back down to the clinic, where a child with a skin rash awaits. The day drags and it makes me more and more irritable and the pain in my leg isn't going away. It throbs and it aches and my shoulder is starting to feel sore from leaning more heavily on my cane. Soon I snap, throwing a file at Cameron as she's walking by. I tell her to take care of it and go on my merry way.

I get home and Henri is in my kitchen, cooking. She's making a huge vat of soup and when I open the freezer, I see she's made meatloaf, a pan of fettuccini alfredo with peas and chicken, a pan of lasagna, and a pan of macaroni and cheese; it's the kind I like, with bacon inside and bread crumbs on top. I go to get some and she tells me that it's not for me.

Perplexed, I ask her exactly who she's cooking for in my kitchen if not me. She's been cooking since she got home from lunch with her parents so she can send them home with food so her mother doesn't have to worry. There's a pan of macaroni for me in the oven and it'll be ready in five minutes; I don't want to wait five minutes.

She wants me to come to dinner with her family tonight instead of crashing like I did last night. I'm grumpy and hungry and in pain and I'm not sure I can handle it tonight. I growl and grab an apple and hobble into the living room, where I flip the television on to my TiVo recordings and start watching an episode of _The L Word_.

Henri isn't cooking for me and she wants me to have dinner with her family. She's not on the couch with me, giving me a massage or a blowjob. She didn't kiss me or hug me or ask me about my day.

I'm not happy today.


	15. Chapter 15

I'm done cooking and have stuffed everything I can in the freezer; I'll put it all in my parent's car tomorrow before they leave. My mother may not be hungry, but I don't want her to be burdened with having to feed my father, who is completely clueless.

I leave the macaroni to cool on the counter. I walk to the living room and sit on the couch next to House, who's watching _The L Word_ and doesn't seem to acknowledge me. I kiss his cheek and ask him how his day was. This opens quite the can of worms.

He tells me in a tight voice that he had clinic hours and encountered a sequence of idiots and morons. He tells me his leg and shoulder are killing him and he's tired. He tells me he came home hungry and cranky and in pain and got nothing from me but bullshit. He tells me he's in no mood to deal with my parents and never was in the first place. He tells me he understands I'm in a tough place right now with my mother and everything, but I've changed and I haven't even moved in yet.

I know he's right, but I can't help but be pissed. I'm just trying to take care of my parents, one of which is about to die a slow and painful death; I'm concerned. I shove at his arm and get up and walk away. I scoop a helping of macaroni onto a plate and walk back into the living room. I toss the plate onto the table with a clatter and grab my bags and walk out the door, calling him an asshole just loud enough for him to hear it.

I throw my things into the back of my car and drive back to my apartment. I'd brought a few things over to start the moving process, but took them with me out of anger. I'll pick up the casseroles in the morning before my parents leave.

I plop my bags on the floor by my door and sit down and watch television for a while before I ready myself for dinner. House bursts into the apartment, shouting out that he'll come to dinner and I should stop nagging him about it. I smile at myself in the mirror before sobering and going out to look at him.

He's dressed nicely; not too nicely. He's looking at me sheepishly, a lopsided grin on his face. He knows that he's giving me that look that I can't resist. My defenses are slowly deteriorated and I crack a smile and walk to him and kiss him. He tells me he didn't mean to minimize my mother's situation; he'd had a bad day and took it out on me. I tell him I'm sorry I didn't give him the attention he needed.

I have him sit on the bed and I give him a shoulder and back massage. When I'm done, I press my chest to his back and wrap my legs around his waist and kiss his neck, the spot where his scar is. He sighs, content, and compliments me on the macaroni I nearly threw at him earlier. I laugh and pull him back onto the bed and bite his ear. I tell him I want a quickie before dinner and he turns around, planting his arms on either side of my head.

When we get to dinner, I know everyone can tell what we've done; House says afterwards, I have a glow for hours. My brother Jeremy elbows me and I tell him to fuck off. My father tells me not to use such language in public. House, interestingly enough, is seated next to my niece.

Immediately, she starts her own inquisition. She tells him House is a funny name and asks him what he does. He tells her he's a doctor and she looks apprehensive. She tells him her new doctor smells funny and doesn't give her stickers like her old doctor did. He says he doesn't have stickers, but he does have lollipops and he produces one from his jacket pocket and gives it to her on the condition she wait until after dinner to have it.

The dinner goes relatively well, my father talking about jazz with House and my mother talking about her treatment. At the end of the evening, I could tell my father still didn't approve of House, but didn't outright hate him. My mother loved him, my siblings brushed him off as an eccentric old man that their eccentric sister would eventually dump and they wouldn't have to deal with ever again.

xXxXx

I'm sitting on the couch brooding. I'm watching _The L Word_ but not really paying attention. Henri comes over and sits beside me and kisses me on the cheek, asking how my day went. Now she asks? Fine. I'll let her know exactly how my day went.

I tell her I had clinic hours, encountered a series of idiots and morons. I tell her my leg and shoulder are killing me and I'm tired. I tell her I came home hungry and cranky and in pain and got nothing from her but bullshit. I tell her I'm in no mood to deal with my parents and never was in the first place. I tell her I understand she's in a tough place right now with her mother and everything, but she's changed and she hasn't even moved in yet.

I can tell I've hit a nerve and she shoves at me and walks into the kitchen. I'm a bastard and I know it. I hear her bumping around in the kitchen and she comes back into the living room, practically throwing a plate with macaroni on it onto the table. I hear a rustle as she grabs her things and as she walks out, she calls me an asshole just loud enough for me to hear it. She slams the door and I'm alone.

I pick up the macaroni and take a bite; it's fucking incredible. The bacon inside and the crispy bread crumbs on top make it perfect. I eat it, enjoying it immensely, and watch the ending of the show before I get up and go to get dressed. I have to go make it up to her and as much as I really don't want to go to dinner with her family, I know it'll make her feel better if I go.

I go to her apartment and burst through the door, making it swing open and bang against the wall. She comes out of her bedroom with her makeup done, wearing a purple dress. I give her that look I know she can't resist: the tilted head, lopsided smile. Her defenses are no match to that look. She smiles and comes and kisses me. I tell her I didn't mean to minimize her mother's situation; I'd had a bad day and took it out on her. She tells me she's sorry she didn't give me the attention I needed.

She has me sit on the bed and she gives me an incredible shoulder and back massage. When she's done, she presses her chest to my back and wraps her legs around my waist and kisses my neck, the spot where my gunshot scar is. I sigh, content, and tell her that the macaroni and cheese she almost threw at me was amazing, a job well done. She laughs and pulls me onto the bed, my body pressing down on hers. She wants a quickie before dinner and I turn around and ravish her.

When we get to dinner, she's still glowing from what we did earlier and everyone can tell what we've done. Her brother elbows her and she tells him to fuck off and I smile. Her father tells her not to use that language in public, but I love it when she curses; she has a mouth like a sailor.

I'm sitting next to Henri's niece and she starts asking me questions right away. She tells me House is a funny name and she asks me what I do. I tell her and she doesn't seem to be too happy about it. I find children have the possibility to be extremely interesting people, as they have yet to develop shame or a filter; they say whatever is on their minds. She tells me her new doctor smells funny and doesn't give her stickers like her old doctor. I tell her I don't have any stickers, but I pull a lollipop out of my jacket pocket, a leftover from the clinic. I give it to her on the condition that she waits until after dinner to have it.

The dinner goes relatively well, her father talking about jazz and her mother talking about her treatment. At the end of the evening, I could tell her father still didn't approve of me, but doesn't outright hate me. Her mother seemed to like me a lot, and I think her siblings brushed me off as an eccentric old man that their eccentric sister would eventually dump and they wouldn't have to deal with ever again.


	16. Chapter 16

It's my birthday and I wake up next to House in our apartment. It's OUR apartment and I love that. Last night, after dinner, I moved in all my clothes and toiletries. I have to be out by the fifteenth and I'm going to have to scramble to sell all of my furniture. His back is to me and I slide over to him and throw my arm and leg over him and press my face between his shoulder blades.

He groans and pats my hand with his and turns his face to kiss me. I tell him he can look forward to this every morning and I ask him what he wants for breakfast. He tells me it's my birthday and I shouldn't be cooking and I tell him I want to do it for him. He wants scrambled eggs and bacon and it sounds damn good to me too. I get out of bed and I'm in his favorite outfit: a tank top and a thong; he loves it when I walk around like this without covering up.

I make the eggs, the bacon, the toast. Breakfast in bed for him is one of the many perks of living with me. I eat in the living room in front of the television, watching _Dexter_, a show I've just discovered that House can actually watch without complaining the entire way through. I think he understands Dexter's cool, calculating mind and his desire to be alone, but at the same time he isn't as much of an unfeeling bastard as the serial killer is.

I give House this time alone so he doesn't feel like I'm suffocating him. I also enjoy our alone but together time, knowing he's there if I want him but not right there with him. When he's finished, I go and take the tray and clean up.

I shower quickly and put all the frozen casseroles in my trunk and bring them to the hotel for my parents before they leave. They're touched and there's a long, tearful goodbye. I'm immediately relieved when they're gone. I love my parents, but the truth of the situation is in my face when they're here and when they're gone, I can pretend it's not real.

I go to my apartment and start boxing up my pictures and food and DVDs, things I won't be selling. I throw lots of things away, including my movie posters, things I don't really care for anymore. I'm excited to be able to call House's apartment home. I have a total of six boxes to bring to House's apartment and all the rest is going to be sold off. It's a little sad, really, to see all the things I've accumulated sold to different people, scattered between homes.

When I get back to the apartment, House is eating a cheeseburger from Wendy's. I smile when I see he got me my favorite: chicken nuggets and a chocolate frosty. He thinks I'm a mental case because I alternately dip my nuggets in honey mustard and the frosty; the contrast of salty and sweet, cold and hot is amazing. I pop in one of our favorite movies, a black and white from the 1930s called _Camille_.

I get up and start unpacking my boxes as I eat and watch the movie. I like to multitask. He tells me not to put any pictures of my family in the bedroom or facing the couch; he doesn't want my father watching us when we do it. I smile and straddle him and spoon feed him the remainder of my frosty. We have incredible sex right there and in the aftermath, we continue to make out like kids for hours before he goes down on me and we do it again.

He takes me to dinner, a place with live jazz and a great wine selection. He's funny and charming and it gives me butterflies in my stomach to look at him. At the end of dinner, the wait staff circles our table, one of them holding a piece of chocolate cake with a candle in it. They're singing happy birthday to me and I'm red in the face. House is grinning at me and thinks it's funny that he's embarrassed me. The entire restaurant claps when they're done singing.

I tell him he's an asshole and we share the cake. House tells me since it's my birthday, I should get completely hammered and I agree with him. I go up to the bar and order a shot of Jack Daniel's while House pays the bill. While I'm waiting, a young man in a suit approaches me and offers to buy me the shot. I politely tell him no thank you. He asks me if it's my father I'm having my birthday dinner with and I tell him no, it's my boyfriend. He chuckles and tells me to ditch the old guy and get with a real man. I'm getting irritated and try to ignore him, but he puts his hand on my back and it makes me angry. As I'm about to tell him to go fuck himself, House shows up and whacks the guy in the shin with his cane.

House asks me if everything is okay and when I nod and smile at him, he says goodbye to the guy and we kiss. My shot arrives and I throw it back. House slaps some money onto the bar and we walk out of the restaurant and get onto his motorcycle and speed away.

My man might not be as young as I am and he might not be as physically capable as other people, but he knows just how to save me.

xXxXx

I wake up to Henri holding me, her arm and leg thrown over me and her face pressed between my shoulders. I love the feeling of her clinging onto me like this. I groan and pat her hand and turn my head to kiss her. She tells me I can look forward to this every morning and then asks me what I want for breakfast and I tell her it's her birthday and she shouldn't have to cook for me. She wants to, so I tell her I'd love some bacon and scrambled eggs. She gets out of bed and is wearing my favorite outfit: a tank top and a thong. I love it when she walks around like this.

I listen to her in the kitchen, one of my favorite sounds. The fact that she's here right now still amazes me. I'm constantly a prick to her and she stays. She brings in my tray and goes to eat in the living room. As I'm eating, I'm amazed at how wonderful she is. She gives me my space when I need it. It's as if we're alone together and I can get to her in a few seconds if I have a need or want to. When I'm finished she cleans up and showers before loading her car up with her frozen casseroles and goes to say goodbye to her family and get a few things from her apartment.

I use the time to clear space in the DVD rack for her movies and I half-ass make the bed. I go out for a while, riding my motorcycle, and end up at Wendy's. I get her favorite: chicken nuggets and a chocolate frosty. She's a complete mental case, she likes to dip her chicken alternately into honey mustard and the frosty. She says the contrast of the salt/sweet, hot/cold is the aesthetic to it.

She comes back as I'm in the process of eating my cheeseburger and she brings in boxes. She smiles when she sees what I got for her to eat and she pops in one of our favorite movies, _Camille_; gotta love a story about a French hooker and her true love. Henri goes between eating and unpacking, she loves to multitask.

I tell her not to put any pictures of her family in the bedroom or near the couch; I don't want her dad staring at me when I'm plowing his daughter. She smiles at that and straddles me, spoon feeding me the last of her frosty. It's good and sweet and cold. We have some incredible sex and afterwards, we make out like a couple of teenagers for hours. I love making out with Henri, it makes me feel like some young foolish kid. It's her birthday, so I go down on her before we do it again.

I take her out to dinner, a place we've been to before and both liked, a place with a live jazz band. She's beautiful and funny and she makes me feel tingly inside when I look at her. At the end of dinner, the wait staff assaults us with their singing and some chocolate cake, as I'd arranged. I love embarrassing the shit out of people and Henri is no exception. She's red in the face and I'm smiling.

She tells me I'm an asshole and we share the cake. Since it's her birthday, I tell her to get hammered. She goes up to the bar and orders something as I'm paying the bill. I give a generous tip for the successful embarrassment. I look up and there's some young, handsome guy in a business suit talking to her. I can see by her body language she's uncomfortable. She's trying to brush him off, but he puts his hand on her back and she's pissed. I'm pissed.

I get up and when I reach them, I smack him in the leg with my cane. I'd smack him somewhere else if there weren't so many pesky witnesses. I ask Henri if everything is okay and she smiles. I say goodbye to the guy and we kiss. I slap some money on the bar and we exit, jumping on my motorcycle and riding off into the night like some movie ending.

Her man might not be as young as she is and I might be a cripple, unlike most other people, but I always try my best to save her.


	17. Chapter 17

I'm cooking dinner for myself one night, two months after my birthday. It's something simple, just some brown rice and vegetables and chicken. House is working tonight and I'm not sure when I'll see him. I sent him to work with a big Tupperware full of bowtie pasta and pesto sauce. I'm sitting in front of the television eating when my phone rings. I'm hoping it's House, wanting some late night phone sex.

It's my father. We've been in contact almost daily since their surprise visit. For weeks I've been getting updates on my mother's deteriorating health. She'd gone in for surgery yesterday and there didn't seem to be much news. Now I can hear the exhaustion and pain and sadness in my father's voice.

The surgery was unsuccessful and there are complications. My father tells me to come, my mother doesn't have a lot of time left. I tell him I'll be there and I hang up the phone. I'm numb. I can't move.

When House comes home hours later, he finds me still sitting there, staring into nothingness. My food is half eaten and cold. He wants to know what's wrong and for a moment, I hear him but the question doesn't register. He has to ask me twice more before I'm broken out of my catatonic state. I look up at him and I tell him what's going on. He presses his lips together before telling me to get up and pack.

We speed up the Turnpike and arrive in the city at one in the morning. We're not worried about the timing; there are no visiting hours for the dying. I get to her room and my family is sitting outside, sleeping or trying to. My father looks up as we approach, his eyes red. He stands and he looks so weak it tears at my heart. My father and I hug and he and House shake hands.

They've been waiting for me. She's in a lot of pain, so she's in a chemically induced coma. They waited for me to come say goodbye before they pulled the plug. Jesus.

I walk into the darkness of the room slowly. It's surreal, like some dark, fuzzy dream you can't quite make out. She's covered with tubes and wires and she's so thin, she's nearly skeletal. The clicking of the machines breathing for her is macabre and when I take her hand it feels waxy, not quite real. I sit for a long time, just looking at her.

Finally, I start talking. I tell her it's strange to see her this way, this pillar of strength that used to support me even when she didn't approve of the things I did. I tell her it's not fair that she's here, that her life was cut short so quickly. I tell her I wish she'd gotten to know House better because he's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I squeeze her hand and tell her I'm angry at her that she isn't going to see me get married and have children, she'll never see Alexis grow up and she'll never be there to help me when I need her. I tell her I love her and I'll miss her and I don't know what I'm going to do without her.

I hear someone behind me and I turn around. House is standing there and I stand and go to him. He crushes me in his arms as I begin to sob. I feel like my heart is going to fall out and I think I'm shaking. A nurse passes by us and my father tells us the time has come. We file in and I grab one of my mother's hands, my father grabs the other; between us are my brothers and we're holding hands and I know House is watching and finds this ridiculous, but we all want to be here when she goes.

One by one, the nurse turns off all the machines. And she's gone.

xXxXx

It's been a hard day and I can't wait to get home and ambush Henri in bed. It's late and I'm tired and I'm thankful for the pesto pasta she packed for me. I take the ride between the hospital and the apartment slowly, I'm tired and my leg hurts and I want to get to her safely so I can get her naked as soon as I crawl into bed.

Instead I find her sitting at the table, staring into nothingness. There's a half-eaten plate of food sitting in front of her and I can tell it's cold and has been sitting for a while. I ask her what's wrong and she doesn't move, doesn't even blink an eye. I have to ask her twice more before I get a response out of her.

Her father called. I've been dreading this day, the day when he'd call and tell her to come because it's all about to crash down. I've been dreading it because I'm not sure what to say to her when it happens; I'm not sure how to be her rock in this time of complete grief. She says that her mother's surgery was unsuccessful and complications arose. She tells me there isn't much time left. She's in some sort of state of shock and catatonia.

I tell her to pack a small bag for a few days. The funeral's probably been planned down to the last detail. It'll probably be a few days after she dies, so we might as well stay up there for it. I drive, not trusting her nerves right now.

We speed up the Jersey Turnpike and I'm thinking about what I'm going to say to her. All I know how to do is explain death in medical terms. I don't believe in the afterlife and neither does she, so I know she's not looking for some sort of spiritual explanation.

We arrive and it's nearly one in the morning. It doesn't matter what time it is; visiting hours don't apply to the dying. We get to the room and her father looks up at us. I've seen that look so many times, the people seem to meld together into one grieving being; he's physically and emotionally exhausted and I see he's been crying. The woman he's loved and had children with is dying and I can't imagine the pain in that. I couldn't imagine losing Henri like this.

Henri and her father hug, grasping onto each other desperately. He shakes my hand and thanks me for coming. They've been waiting for Henri to arrive. Her mother is in a lot of pain and so she's in a chemically induced coma; that is something I can relate to. There's no more that can be done for her, so they've been waiting for Henri to come say goodbye before they pull the plug.

She walks away and into the dark recesses of the room. Her brothers are sleeping on the uncomfortable lounge furniture that looks the same in almost every hospital. Her father sits there, head in hands. He has to let his wife go tonight and it's tearing him up inside.

Although I know I shouldn't, I go to the door of the hospital room. Henri's sitting at her mother's bedside, holding her hand. She's silent for a moment before she begins to speak.

She tells her it's strange to see her this way, this pillar of strength that used to support her even when she didn't approve of the things she did and I think about how she accepted me even when her husband thought I was a cradle-robbing prick. She tells her it's not fair that she's here, that her life was cut short so quickly. She tells her she wishes she'd gotten to know me better because I'm the one she wants to spend the rest of her life with. It's altogether a frightening but thrilling notion.

Without realizing it, she begins to cry when she tells her she's angry at her that she isn't going to see her get married and have children, she'll never see Alexis grow up and she'll never be there to help her when she needs her. She tells her she loves her and she'll miss her and she doesn't know what she's going to do without her.

She hears me standing there and looks up at me. Without hesitation she comes to me and I hold her tightly as she begins to sob. I realize she's not looking for me to explain anything, she never was; she just needed me to be here for her.

The nurse walks past us and into the room and her father tells her it's time. I remain in the doorway as her family gathers around her mother, all holding hands in some sort of strange circle as the nurse turns off the machines. I feel like a voyeur, spying on this intimate family moment, but I don't turn away. They have something I've always lacked: a real, loving family.

And in the complete silence of the hospital late at night, she's gone.


	18. Chapter 18

My mother died August 13 and we buried her two days later. It was traumatic, but not quite the shock it would have been if she'd been taken from us suddenly, like in a car accident. I was expecting it but at the same time I don't think I really thought it would happen; it was more like a dream.

House never said anything to try to help me and I think that's exactly what I needed. He held me and let me cry when I needed it, he took me out on long motorcycle rides when I needed it, he fucked me or had sex with me or made love to me when I needed it. He let me sit in his office for hours while he worked, listening to music and doing crossword puzzles. Nothing he could have said would have helped, but the fact that he did exactly what I needed when I needed it meant so much more.

It's taken me a month to be okay with everything. I lost my job when I couldn't stop calling out to stay in bed and now I'm looking for something more substantial, something befitting a college graduate; in short terms, something that doesn't involve cleaning up after people. House has been at the hospital for hours and hours these last few days, an epidemic keeping him busy. I miss him, but I cope with it better and better each day.

When he comes home every night, I'm ready with dinner, a massage, an ear to listen. Our sex life is always exciting, always fulfilling, always happening. We're together at least once a day. The feeling of his hands on my body is intoxicating. He's the ultimate drug for me, more addicting and more satisfying than when I'm drinking or smoking weed.

He gets home and I've got some roasted turkey, mashed potatoes and broccoli for him. He's starving; he's been working for almost fourteen hours. He barely speaks as he eats, knocking back beers between bites. It makes me happy to know I'm helping him. I know if I wasn't here, he'd have some disgusting takeout or perhaps nothing at all.

I can see he's in one of his tortured states. This case is getting to him, he can't stand it. There are five patients with the same illness and nothing in common; two white females, two white males and a black male, all with different jobs and different lives in different parts of town. He's clutching at the handle of his cane, flexing his fingers and staring off into space. His leg's probably hurting and that means his shoulder's hurting, too.

I need to ease his pain and relax him and so I take his hand and bring him into the bedroom and slowly undress him to his boxers and get him into bed, face down on his belly. I straddle his hips and sit on his butt and grab some moisturizer and work on the knots in his back and shoulders. He groans when I knead at the worst of the knots.

I sing Billie Holiday to him as I'm working, "Strange Fruit," his favorite one of hers. I think he likes how the beautiful melody is deceiving, as the lyrics are quite gruesome. His hand rubs at my knee softly and I know he's happier than he's been all day. I start singing "Lady Sings the Blues" and he starts laughing and pushes me off his back. He knows he's not a bad man and he treats me well, he knows I'm singing the song to him to tease him.

He's on top of me, smiling, and looking into my eyes. I smile back as he brushes the hair from my face, cupping my cheek as he kisses me. His kiss is electric and I press my fingers into the back of his neck, the other hand snaking through his hair, deepening the kiss, making it more urgent and passionate.

I don't ever want this to end. I want to spend the rest of my life with this man, and I tell him I wish things could be this way forever. He hums in what I think is agreement and kisses his way down my neck.

I love him more than words can express.

xXxXx

Henri's mother died on August 13 and the funeral was two days later. It was traumatic for her, but I think it was better that she'd had the time to prepare for it, unlike a sudden car accident or a heart attack. She was expecting it, something not a lot of people get.

I never said anything to try to help her and I think that's exactly what she needed. I held her and let her cry when she needed it, I took her out on long motorcycle rides when she needed it, I fucked her or had sex with her or made love to her when she needed it. I let her sit in my office for hours while I worked, listening to music and doing crossword puzzles. Nothing I could have said would have helped, but the fact that I did exactly what she needed when she needed it meant so much more to her.

It's taken her the last month to set herself to rights. She lost her shitty part time job at the coffee shop when she called out one too many times to stay in bed all day. Now she's looking for something better, something that actually applies to her skills.

I tell her she doesn't need to get a job, we can survive on my tiny doctor's salary and she laughs. I know she can't sit around all day doing nothing, although that's what I'd love; she'd be on call for me at all times, ready when I needed her. She's only twenty three, though, and can't stay in an apartment all day for much longer.

I've been at the hospital for hours and hours these last few days, an epidemic keeping me busy. I miss her and she misses me, but I think we cope with it better each day.

When I come home every night, she's ready with dinner, a massage, an ear to listen. Our sex life is always incredibly exciting, fulfilling, intoxicating. She's the ultimate drug for me, more addicting and more satisfying than Vicodin or ketamine or morphine or alcohol.

I get home and she's got some roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, and broccoli for me. I'm starving; I've been working almost fourteen hours. I barely speak as I eat, knocking back beers between bites. If she wasn't here, I'd probably get nasty takeout or eat nothing at all.

I'm in one of my states where I can't stop thinking about work. It's taken up so much of my life for so long that sometimes it consumes me and I forget about everything else around me. This case is getting to me and I can't stand it. I have five patients with the same illness, the same symptom timeline and they have nothing in common; two white females, two white males and a black male, all with different jobs and different lives in different parts of town. My leg and shoulder are killing me and as I stare off into space, trying to figure out the missing piece of the puzzle, I flex my fingers against my cane.

Henri takes my hand and breaks me from my mind's spell and brings me into the bedroom. She slowly undresses me to my boxers and I know this is going somewhere I'm going to like. She gets me into bed, face down on my belly. She straddles my hips and takes a seat on my ass and my back cracks. The feeling of cold lotion on my back gives me goose bumps briefly and she begins to massage me, working on the knots in my back and shoulders. I'm groaning when she kneads at the worst of the knots, or "fishies," as she calls them. She claims they feel like slippery little fish under my skin when she works on them and I like it.

She sings Billie Holiday to me as she's working, "Strange Fruit," my favorite one of hers. I love how the beautiful, slow melody and her smoky voice are deceiving, as the lyrics about lynching are quite grotesque. I rub at her knee softly because I'm happier than I've been all day. I love her amazing voice and how she hits the notes. It's softer and prettier than Billie's, but it has a sexy, rough smokiness to it that's enthralling.

She starts to sing "Lady Sings the Blues," a song about a man who doesn't treat his woman right and I start to laugh, she's singing it at me more than to me. I push her off my back, I know she's trying to tease me and I like it.

I'm on top of her, smiling, and looking into her big, beautiful blue eyes. She smiles back at me, that brilliant smile, and I brush the hair from her face, cupping her cheek as I kiss her. Her lips are electric and she presses her fingers into the back of my neck as the other hand runs through my hair, deepening the kiss, making it more urgent and passionate.

I don't ever want this to end. I want to spend the rest of my life with this woman, in her arms, in her bed, inside her. She tells me she wishes things could be this way forever. I hum at her, not wanting to give a response, but I agree with her. I kiss her way down her neck and I realize that I really do want this to last until the day I die.

I love her more than words can express.


	19. Chapter 19

He asks me if I want to go to dinner tonight and of course I say yes. When he tells me where we're going, I'm surprised. We've never been to such a fancy place since we've been together, and it's been nearly a year since I met him. House doesn't enjoy dressing up very often, and tries to avoid places that either don't have live jazz or aren't jean friendly. Something's going on and I'm not really sure what.

I have a feeling that tonight's going to be special and so I go out to Victoria's Secret to buy a little something for House. I'm the gift and I need to find some extra special wrapping. I finally decide on lace shorts that my butt hangs out of and a matching bustier with clips for thigh-high stockings. I get it all in black, my favorite color and a color I know House likes in lingerie.

I go from store to store, trying to find that perfect dress for tonight. I'm getting frustrated until finally, I find it. It's midnight blue, almost black, but it brings out my eyes like sapphires. It's strapless and goes down to the floor, fabric gathered up at the left side.

The dress, along with the lingerie, is expensive, eating up a huge chunk of my savings, but I feel like it's worth it. There's something that tells me tonight is different than any other date night we've ever had. I'm giddy when I get into the car and start back home. I know exactly what to pair with this outfit: my strappy stilettos and the bracelet House gave me for my birthday.

I shower when I get home, hoping I get out in time to get ready before he gets home. I don't want him to see the lingerie before we get home from dinner. I'm completely dressed and made up and as I'm struggling to close the clasp on the bracelet, I hear the door open and the clumping of him coming in. I shout out at him to get dressed before he sees me and I hide in a closet.

I can hear him laugh as he has a very quick shower and throws on his tux. He shouts that he's ready to go and will leave without me if I don't come out soon. I come out and I see my 007 standing in the hallway, looking at me in awe, but I see he's nervous. He doesn't stare at me like he did when we were at the charity gala and I'm a little sad; I spent a lot of time and effort to get ready.

We take my car to the restaurant and when we sit, House orders a very nice bottle of wine. We talk about his day and mine, about how I can't seem to find a job that really appeals to me and he tells me I don't need to get a job right away, he can take care of me. I find this sentiment strange, he's never said something like this before, but it makes me happy. He says he'd rather have me at home, waiting on him hand and foot and I laugh; that's more like House.

He seems jittery throughout the meal and doesn't eat his entire steak. I feel like something big is about to happen and I start to get excited myself. My heart is fluttering and I ask him if everything is okay, he seems on edge. He tells me everything is fine and when I ask him why he's taken me out to such a nice dinner, he seems like he's got something to say, but doesn't want to say it.

Finally, he tells me he wanted to take me out to show me how much he appreciated me, he thought I'd like it after the difficulties of my mother's passing. It's sweet of him to say these things, but I still feel like there's something he's not telling me. He pays and we head home and he seems agitated.

He's in a bad mood when he's getting out of his tuxedo and I decide that now might as well be time to unveil my secret weapon. He's looking at me and I give him that seductive look that melts him as I slowly unzip the back of my dress and let it fall to the ground.

He raises his eyebrows as he looks me up and down once, twice, three times. I walk to him, the click of my heels on the floor the only sound in the apartment and he sits on the bed and I straddle him.

The questions about tonight are out of my head as he runs his hands over me, taking it all in with his eyes and hands and, soon after, his mouth.

xXxXx

I ask her to dinner tonight with something very specific on my mind. She seems surprised when I tell her where we're going, but doesn't seem to suspect anything. We've never been to such a fancy place since we've been together. I don't enjoy dressing up and I try to avoid places that either don't have live jazz or aren't jean friendly.

Tonight is going to be as special as I can make it. I want her to feel like she's being wined and dined and pampered, like a normal guy would do for her. Ever since that night where she sang for me and told me she wished it could all go on forever, I haven't been able to get that idea out of my head.

I never thought I'd get to this point, where I'd want someone around me forever. At work all day, I'm nervous and everyone can tell. Wilson pesters me my entire shift, wanting to know what's going on. I tell him I'm thinking about doing something extremely reckless and I'll let him know how it goes tomorrow.

I get home and Henri shouts at me to get dressed before I see her. She's hiding somewhere and I'm not sure where, probably a closet. I consider opening all the closets until I find her, but I'm trying to focus and let her have her night. I shower quickly and throw on my tux. I shout out to nowhere in particular that I'm ready to go and will leave without her if she doesn't come out soon.

She comes out of the hall closet and she's stunning. The deep blue of her dress brings out her eyes like sapphires and she's wearing my bracelet and those shoes I love. Her hair is up and her eyes are dark and smoky. She's beautiful, but I'm nervous and don't stare for long, as much as I'd like to.

We take her car to the restaurant and sit and I order a nice bottle of wine that I know she'll love. We talk about my day and hers, about how she can't seem to find a job that really appeals to her and I tell her she doesn't need to get a job right away, I can take care of her. My stomach flutters when I say this because I didn't mean to say something so revealing. I've never said anything like this to her before and I know she thinks something's up. I tell her I'd rather have her at home, waiting on me hand and foot and I think this is decent recovery.

I'm so nervous I can barely eat my steak. It's delicious, but my nerves are killing my appetite. My heart is pounding and I feel hot, like an oven. She asks me if everything is okay and she looks like she's preparing herself for something. I tell her everything is fine and when she asks why I've taken her out to such a nice dinner, I almost do it.

The words stick in my mouth like peanut butter and I know I can't do it. I tell her I wanted to take her out to show her how much I appreciated her, I though she'd like it after the difficulties of her mother's passing. It doesn't sound like me, it sounds like a crock of bullshit, but it's the best I can do under pressure. She looks apprehensive, but she smiles and tells me I'm sweet. I pay and we head home.

I'm absolutely fuming when we get back but I try to restrain it. I'm such a fucking coward, a stupid fucking coward. I can't do these things right, I can't do it like everyone else. I'm getting out of my tux and she can tell I'm pissed, but I know she doesn't know why.

I look up at her and she gives me that seductive look that melts me and she slowly unzips the back of her dress and lets it fall to the ground. The sight before me immediately wipes all thoughts from my head. She's a vision in a black lace bustier, pushing her breasts up in an amazing way. She's got on some black lace shorts and her ass hangs out the back; the stockings she's wearing, thigh high fishnets, are clipped to the bustier and it all comes to an end with those incredible strappy stilettos.

I raise my eyebrows and look her up and down once, twice, three times. She walks to me, the click of her heels on the floor the only sound in the apartment. I'm at full attention, waiting for her touch. I sit back on the bed and she straddles me.

The anger about tonight is out of my head as I run my hands over her, taking it all in with my eyes and hands and, soon after, my mouth.


	20. Chapter 20

He's not here when I wake up this morning. I'm by myself and from the feel of the sheets, he's been gone for a long time. I'm naked and the floor is covered with lingerie, pieces of a tuxedo and a very wrinkled dress. There's something strange going on and I don't like it. I haven't woken up with him gone in a long time.

I get up and I start cleaning up. I have to bring our clothes to the dry cleaner's to get rid of these wrinkles. I immerse myself in cleaning, more than I ever have. I'm upset and confused. I thought last night was going to be something monumental and I'm disappointed it wasn't. I don't know what I was looking for; maybe he was going to finally tell me how he felt about me, say those three little words. The fact that it's a possibility that that's the reason we were there and he couldn't say it depresses me.

I'm scrubbing the shower with vigor, using bleach and a scrub brush. I clean all the windows, inside and out. I mop the floors, vacuum the carpets, do all the laundry and fold the clean clothes. I take out all the food from the refrigerator and cabinets, clean the areas and return the food. I dust, I scour, I cleanse, I polish. It takes me seven hours to finish my task and in the end, I'm exhausted.

I take the dry cleaning over and since I'm out and feeling manic, I go to the hospital. I've been by myself to think all day, without a call or a text or a note. There's no explanation for his behavior and it's driving me crazy. I'm sure the fact that I have yet to eat, shower or take a moment's rest isn't helping me. I've been closed up with chemicals all day and my head is floating. I've worked myself up all day, way beyond any rational thinking. I'll probably look back on this later and call myself an overemotional idiot.

I get to the hospital and House is talking to his team: Doctors Foreman, Thirteen, Kutner, Taub and Cameron, too. As I'm walking toward the door, I see Wilson and Cuddy heading over as well. I'm trying to ignore the fact that this confrontation is about to happen in front of everyone he knows.

I whip open the door and all heads turn in my direction. I'm sure I look like hell; I haven't showered yet and I'm in a tank top and shorts covered in cleaning chemicals. I'm not wearing makeup and my hair is stuffed up into a bun.

I demand to know what the hell is going on with him. He wasn't in bed when I got up this morning, he hasn't called, hasn't explained why he took me out last night. He sighs and asks me if we can talk about this later and I shout NO.

I want to know what's going on and why. He brought me out to the most beautiful dinner last night and I know he wanted to say something, I know he tried. I want to know why he was so nervous, why he was tense, why he was angry. I want to know what he wanted to say to me. I can feel seven pairs of eyes on me, this crazy woman coming in and shouting at House.

He tells me that we can't talk now, we'll talk when he gets home and I tell him to tell me what he wanted to tell me last night. He says nothing and you could cut the tension in the room with a knife. My heart is beating so fast and my knees are shaking and I feel like I could pass out. My throat is closing up and I feel tears pressing at the back of my eyes and in a smaller, trembling voice I ask him to tell me. He still says nothing and I shout at him to tell me.

When he doesn't say anything, I let the tears fall and I turn and walk away. I'm red in the face, embarrassed, when I pass Cuddy and Wilson in the door way. I walk down the hall and wipe the tears from my face. I've just made a fool of myself in front of everyone House works with and for what? So he could say something I'm not even sure I want to hear?

I'm almost turning down the next hall when I hear him shout my name.

xXxXx

I'm staring at her as she sleeps, so peaceful and beautiful. I know I should wake her up now and do what I failed to do last night. Now would be a perfect moment; some of the best moments we've shared together have been when we wake up next to each other. I'm a fool and a coward and instead of manning up and doing this right, I quietly get out of bed and dress and slip out the door, a full hour before I need to leave.

I'm pissed and I've had way too many cups of coffee by the time Wilson comes into his office, surprised and startled when he sees me sitting there. He asks me what I've done and if we should call a lawyer. I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh and put the box on the table. Wilson takes his time putting his things down and taking off his coat. He sits at his desk and takes the box in his hand, skeptical. He wants to know if there's an eyeball or a finger inside and I tell him to just open it, for fuck's sake.

When he opens it, his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He looks up at me in disbelief and asks me if this is what he thinks it is. I tell him it is, in fact, an engagement ring. I tell him about last night, about how I was about to ask her and chickened out. I tell him about this morning and how I chickened out again. I tell him I'm a fucking idiot and he agrees, but asks me if I'm sure this is what I want.

I tell him I've wanted this since I met her, I just didn't know it. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. He asks if I'm sure it's what she wants, if she'll say yes and all of a sudden, I wonder that, too. Will she say yes? If I can actually drum up enough courage to ask her, will she say yes? She's twenty three and I'm approaching fifty. Does she want to settle down this soon? With me?

Wilson can see the concern on my face and tells me he's sure she'll say yes. I tell him he's a prick for making me think otherwise. He congratulates me and tells me I'm a lucky man, Henri is an amazing girl. He tells me to do it soon before I get too scared and forget all about it. I can't forget about it, I know she knows something's up and it'll be twenty questions when I get home.

I'm in my office with my team, plus Cameron. I'm having her sit in for her expertise in the immune system. Wilson and Cuddy are on their way, I know, to bitch at me for my suggestion that we use an experimental treatment on these patients. Out of nowhere, Henri bursts in. She looks disheveled, in stained clothes, her hair a mess. She looks pale and jittery and manic.

She demands to know what the hell is going on with me. I wasn't in bed when she got up this morning, I haven't called, haven't explained why I took her out last night. I sigh and ask her if we can talk about this later. I'm embarrassed she's come here in front of everyone, airing our problems for all to see. She shouts NO.

She wants to know what's going on and why. She's desperate and I can smell the cleaning chemicals all over her. She's probably light headed from being in a closed space with all those fumes. She says I brought her out to the most beautiful dinner last night and she knows I wanted to say something, she knows I tried. She wants to know why I was so nervous, why I was tense, why I was angry. She wants to know what I wanted to say to her. Everyone's staring at her like a crazy woman.

I tell her we can't talk now, we'll talk when I get home and she tells me to tell her what I wanted to say last night. I say nothing and you could cut the tension in the room with a knife. I don't want to do this right now, I want her to go away and calm down so we can talk about it rationally and I can put some sort of romance to it like normal people would. I can see she's on edge and she's about to cry. She asks me in a small, trembling voice to tell her. I still say nothing and she shouts at me to tell her.

When I don't say anything, she lets the tears fall and turns to walk away. Everyone's looking at me and Wilson tells me to do it now before I lose the guts. I tell him I don't want to do it now, I want to do it when it's right and normal. In a strange twist of fate, Foreman is the one to push me forward when he asks me since when I'd been right and normal?

I grab my cane and am out of the room as quickly as I can go. She's about to turn a corner and I know I won't catch up to her so I shout her name. She stops and turns around. She walks back and for a second we just look at each other. Then I start talking.

I tell her I didn't want to do it this way, I wanted to do it last night, when it was proper and romantic and the way any other guy would do it. I tell her I hate that I have to do this now, in this fucking hospital in front of all these fucking people, but why strangers instead of the people that I know?

I tell her I love her and I pull the ring out of my pocket and tell her I want her to marry me. Her mouth opens slightly, like in disbelief. I'm embarrassed and I know my entire team is behind me, staring at me. I'm waiting on her answer. She looks from my face to the ring and closes the space between us and throws her arms around my neck and whispers one word to me.

Yes.


	21. Chapter 21

I look at the ring shining in the light and smile. It's big, but not too big, a rounded, square-like princess cut on a platinum band. He wanted to do it last night so he could do it right, but he'd lost nerve and ended up doing it in the hallway of his hospital. I don't care. We're different and a normal, everyday proposal wouldn't fit us; this does.

We kissed and he slipped the ring on my finger clumsily before kissing me again, grabbing my ass and telling me if I didn't get home right now, he'd take it back. I smiled and complied, too ecstatic to protest. When I left, I went to the grocery store and picked up some food to make him a special dinner. I stop at the liquor store and grab three bottles of red wine.

I'm making some filet mignon, roasted potatoes and asparagus and as I cook, my ring keeps catching my eye. Dinner takes twice as long to make because I stop every few moments to admire it. It's beautiful and classy and so perfect.

I'm so giddy, I started drinking the moment I got home and have almost consumed an entire bottle of wine by the time House gets home. The lights are dimmed, candles are lit and I'm wearing a skimpy dress with no underwear. He comes in, his face serious.

He tells me I pulled vital information from him before he was ready and for that I have to pay, and when I smile at him, he smiles back. I put my left hand up to my mouth and tap my lips as if I'm thinking and I ask him what I could possibly do to pay him back, making sure my ring catches the light. I tell him I'll have to think _long_ and _hard_ about what I can do.

He chuckles and tells me that's a nice ring I'm wearing and wants to know where I stole it. I walk to him, lazily swinging my hips back and forth and put my arms around him. I tell him I tricked some sexy doctor into giving it to me. Aww, the poor guy, he says before kissing me and calling me a black widow. I know he tastes the wine on my lips when he asks me how much I've had to drink before he got home.

I laugh and walk into the kitchen, telling him I've knocked back most of a bottle. He seems pleased and says he's looking forward to sloppy drunk sex later. I laugh and bring out our plates. He's pleased with the work I've done, seasoning the potatoes and wrapping the filet in bacon. We drink more wine and before I know it, I'm drunk and giggly.

I sit in his lap and ask him if he really wants to marry me. The candle light is soft and relaxing and romantic. He looks me in the eyes and tells me yes, he really does. I ask him when he knew and he sighs and says it was the other day when I was giving him head as he ate the turkey sandwich I'd made him. This makes me laugh and I tell him I knew when he told me I didn't have to get a job so I could lie around his apartment all day, using up all his money.

He laughs and says we're poor now, he spent it all on the ring and my outburst earlier cost him his job, so now I had to go get a job so I could be his sugar momma and support him. I slowly raise the hem of my dress and toss it onto a lamp. I love being naked in our apartment, free to walk around, knowing I'm being admired.

I lie down on the couch, my legs over his and I ask him when he wants to get married. He takes my foot in his hands and kisses my ankle and starts working his way up my shin. Between kisses he tells me we can get married whenever I want. I laugh and he works his way past my knee and his tongue touches me and my back arches.

I run my fingers through his hair and tell him I love him. After I come, he tells me he loves me, too. To hear it feels better than the orgasm.

xXxXx

I'm getting so much shit from everyone right now, it's incredible. I wanted to do it last night so I could do it right, but I'd lost nerve and ended up doing it in the hallway of the hospital in front of all these idiots. Word has spread and everyone's gossiping.

We kissed and I slipped the ring on her finger clumsily before kissing her again, grabbing her ass and telling her if she didn't get home right now, I'd take it back. She smiled and left, too ecstatic to protest. When I turned around I still had an audience. I groan and try to walk past them and get back to work, wishing they'd all drop it but knowing they won't.

Wilson says he's glad I've finally stopped being a stubborn ass and made a commitment to something I really care about. Cuddy looks floored, completely surprised I'm actually dedicated enough to Henri to want to marry her. Kutnar is laughing and Foreman is just shaking his head. Cameron looks kind of pissed and I'm not sure why.

I tell them to fuck off and leave my personal life out of this so we can try to solve this case. Cuddy wants to know if I'm actually going to marry her or if I just gave her the ring to keep her around. I brush off the question and tell Cuddy I'm sorry I didn't ask her first, but Henri let me grab her boobs first and beat Cuddy out of first place.

I go through the day dodging questions and words of congratulations. Isn't anything sacred in this hospital? Word got around too quickly because of nurses and receptionists passing around rumors.

I open the door to the apartment and see Henri has the lights low, candles going and I can smell her cooking. She's looking to celebrate and I want to mess with her so I put on my serious face and walk in. She's wearing a skimpy little cotton dress and she isn't wearing a bra and probably isn't wearing underwear, either. From the blush on her cheeks, I can tell she's been drinking.

I tell her she pulled vital information from me before I was ready and for that, she has to pay and when she smiles at that, I can't help but smile back. She puts her left hand to her mouth and taps at her lips as if she's thinking and she makes the diamond of her ring catch the light. She asks me what she could possibly do to pay me back; she'll have to think _long_ and _hard_ about what she could do.

I chuckle and tell her it's a nice ring she's wearing and I ask her where she stole it. She walks over to me, her hips swaying and she puts her arms around me. She tells me she tricked some sexy doctor into giving it to me. Aww, the poor guy, I say before kissing her and calling her a black widow. I taste the wine on her lips and ask her just how much she'd been drinking before I got home.

Henri laughs and walks into the kitchen, telling me she's knocked back most of a bottle. I'm pleased and tell her I'm looking forward to sloppy drunk sex later. She laughs and brings out our plates: filet mignon wrapped in bacon, cooked perfectly medium, roasted potatoes and asparagus. We finish another bottle of wine and before I know it, Henri is wasted and giggling like a moron.

We move to the couch and she sits in my lap and asks me if I really want to marry her. The candle light and the wine are putting me at ease. I look at her and tell her yes, I really do. I don't listen to the voice tugging at the back of my head, reminding me of how scared shitless I am about the situation. She wants to know when I knew I wanted to marry her and I sigh and tell her it was the other day when she was giving me head as I ate the turkey sandwich she made me. I got some honey mustard in her hair and never told her. She laughs and tells me she knew when I told her she didn't have to get a job so she could lie around my apartment all day, using all my money.

I laugh and tell her we're poor now, I spent it all on the ring and her outburst at the hospital cost me my job, so now she has to get a job so she can be my sugar momma and support me. She stands and raises the hem of her dress and tosses it onto a lamp. I love it when she walks around naked in my apartment, free to walk around so I can admire her.

She lies down on the couch, her long, slender legs over mine and she asks me when I want to get married. I take her foot in my hands and kiss her ankle and start working my way up her shin. Between kisses I tell her we can get married whenever she wants. Really, I don't want to talk about when and I don't want to think about when. Ever since I decided to ask her to marry me, I've been frightened about actually closing the deal. She laughs and I work my way past her knee and my tongue touches her and her back arches.

She runs her fingers through my hair and she tells me she loves me. After she comes, I tell her I love her, too. I do. To actually say it relieves me to no end because it's the truth and I know it.


	22. Chapter 22

We're engaged for weeks and we never talk about setting a date. I'm in no real rush, I'm okay with a long engagement; after all, I'm only twenty three. The thing that bothers me is the fact that whenever I bring it up, he seems to brush off my questions or avoid them. I wonder if he's just nervous about getting married, if he's regretting ever proposing or if he doesn't intend on ever marrying me. I try not to think about it and just embrace the fact that I know he loves me and wants me around.

I told my brothers about the engagement first and while Joseph was apprehensive, Jeremy was fully supportive. He came out shortly after my mother's death; after the only person who knew who he really was died, he felt like he couldn't hide anymore. I'd kind of always known he was gay, and now House feels free to make jokes every time I talk to him.

Sherry is pregnant again. When they found out about my mother's cancer, they threw away the birth control and started trying again. Life's too short, they said. She's due in about six months, in April. The exciting milestones in our lives seemed to have needed my mother's death to bring them about.

When I told my father, he said he'd expected it when he first met House. He saw the way we defended each other, the way we were with each other and the way it just seemed to be right. He congratulates me and tells me to send his regards to House. I'm not really sure how my father has handled all of this; my parents had been together for almost forty years. I think he's immersed himself in family and building ship and airplane models. My brother Joseph has invited him to come live with them to help with Alexis when the new baby arrives. He's seriously considering it.

It's the middle of October, we've been engaged for a little over a month. Wilson and Cuddy are throwing us an engagement party. They've rented out a bar for the night, completely open bar. Wilson thought it would be inappropriate to have a fancy event for us; we're not the black tie, pearls and champagne kind of couple. House and I are more of beer, chicken wings and ratty jeans kind of people. I'm flattered that they'd do this for us and when I try to ask if there's anything we can bring or if we can repay them, they refuse.

House may always play the asshole, always insisting that he doesn't care about anyone and no one cares about him, but he has real, true friends around him like I never have. He likes to pretend he's a lone wolf with no human connections, but it's a sham and it makes me happy to know that he's not as alone as he always said he was.

I'm relaxed in my favorite jeans and a brown tank top and I throw a button-down blue flannel shirt over it. It's a casual night and I'm thankful for it. House comes out in his jeans and a black faded t-shirt with his own blue button-down over it. I point out that we have the same style and it's cute and he shrugs on a blazer and scoffs. He says he makes it look better than I ever will; same style since I was in diapers. I call him a cradle robber, he calls me a gold digger.

He tells me my boobs look nice and when I bend over to get my hair in a bun, he says my ass isn't bad either. I tell him to shut up and we head over to the bar.

There's quite the crowd of people waiting for us. They let out a cheer when we arrive and we're immediately handed glasses of champagne. It's funny to see House's friends and coworkers out of their work clothes. Wilson is adorably dorky in his jeans and faded McGill t-shirt and Cuddy, always classy, in a v-neck sweater and pencil skirt. The rest of House's team and former members of his team are all here, all laughing and joking and talking and eating.

My brother Jeremy came down for the party and I'm happy to see him. He looks as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He's brought a "friend" and I can see they're crazy about each other. The rest of my family is busy trying to get my father situated in the wake of my mother's death, trying to get him to move in with them.

My ex-boss, Chris and his girlfriend Rita are here and so are three of my old college friends: Tommy, Mark and Gerri. Gerri and I bonded early on, both of us women with men's names. Tommy and Mark were a package deal, friends since high school before meeting Gerri and I smoking weed behind a residence hall sophomore year. These were the people I got drunk with, got high with, got in trouble with.

They're excited to see me, to meet House. I've already told them about him, so they're prepared when a man over forty with a cane is introduced as Greg House. I grab Gerri as Tommy, who is currently in medical school, begins to talk to House and Mark goes to hit on Cameron.

We're in the alley behind the bar and I pull out a joint. Gerri squeals, excited to smoke with me for the first time in almost a year, and lights it for me. I'm exhaling when Cuddy comes out into the alley, looking up at us, surprised. She apologizes, saying she was looking for the bathroom to try and blot out the spilled beer on her sweater.

I offer her the joint and thus begins a surreal evening.

xXxXx

We've been engaged for weeks, but every time she tries to talk about a date, I avoid it. I don't regret proposing to her, I do love her, but I'm scared to death of actually closing on the deal. Marriage is normal and I've never been one for normality. Happiness and contentment aren't things I'm used to and it freaks me out to know that I could have it all: a good career I enjoy, a beautiful wife who adores me, complete bliss.

Since Henri's mother's death, her family has been filled with milestones. In addition to our engagement, her father can celebrate the fact that his younger son is a flamer. I'm not against gay people; I just like to use derogatory comments to get under Henri's skin. Jeremy's a nice, sensitive guy and I liked him for the most part.

Henri's other brother, Joseph, is having another kid. That in itself gives me the willies. Henri's a young girl and eventually she'll want kids. I'm not sure I'm the type of guy to have children; my own father did such a shit job with me. I'm happy for her brother in my own way, but pregnancy in the air usually inspires others. This is also why I'm not running towards the altar quite yet.

It's the middle of October, we've been engaged for a little over a month. Wilson and Cuddy are throwing us an engagement party. They've rented out a bar for the night, completely open bar. Wilson thought it would be inappropriate to have a fancy event for us; we're not the black tie, pearls and champagne kind of couple. Henri and I are more of beer, chicken wings and ratty jeans kind of people. Actually, I'd much prefer to be the kind of people that stay in and fuck instead of go to some stupid party populated with people I see every day. Henri wants to repay them somehow and I tell her to forget about it; if they want to spend their money to feed us and get us drunk, so be it.

I'll never let on that I'm secretly somewhat flattered that Cuddy and Wilson would show this kind of interest in my personal life. It's good to know that in a sea of lying idiots, there are still a few people with good intentions that I can tolerate.

I'm relaxed in my favorite jeans and a white t-shirt with a green button down over it. I see Henri, in the jeans that ride low on her hips and a tank top that shows her cleavage, covered in that ugly flannel and she laughs. She points out that we have the same style and it's cute. I pull on a blazer and let her know that I've been making this look good since she was in diapers. She calls me a cradle robber and I call her a gold digger.

I tell her that her boobs look nice and then she bends over to pull her hair up and I get a look at what those jeans do to her ass and comment on that, too. She tells me to shut up and we head over to the bar.

There's a crowd waiting for us and they let out a cheer when we arrive. I'm uncomfortable being around this many people. Most of them I know, like Kutner, Thirteen, Taub and the rest of the doctors I've worked with over the years. Wilson looks like an idiot in jeans and Cuddy looks like she's not quite comfortable enough to have dressed completely casual.

The gay brother is here along with his little friend, a short Asian man. I'm glad the rest of her family isn't here; pregnancy isn't my number one favorite thing and I'm sure Henri's father is secretly pissed that I'm going to be inducted into the family.

Henri's old boss and his girlfriend are here, along with three of Henri's college friends. I've never met them before and am afraid of what their impression is of me. I'm also hoping they're not about to talk her out of being with me. They seem nice and the short guy Tommy starts talking to me about med school at Johns Hopkins, my old stomping grounds.

I end up excusing myself to find where Henri ran off to with the girl with the curly hair; I can't remember her name. Gerri? Wilson comes to congratulate me and asks me if I'm really going to take the plunge. I tell him to fuck off and am promptly assaulted by Chase's questions.

It takes me nearly half an hour to get through the crowd of well wishers and I can't find Henri anywhere. I've looked in both bathrooms and the only place I haven't looked is the back alley.

I push my way through the door and find three women sitting on a bench: Henri, Gerri and one person I didn't expect. Cuddy. She has a joint between her thumb and first finger and the three of them burst out laughing after I came out and saw them. They're ridiculously high and I never thought I'd see Lisa Cuddy smoking dope.

I tell them they're naughty girls and need to put that out and come into the party before they get too high to function or the cops show up. Henri tells me she's very naughty and needs to be spanked. Cuddy can't stop laughing and she hands the joint over to Gerri. I grab the joint, inhale once and drop it to the ground, smashing it with the toe of my shoe. I haven't smoked pot in a long time and the taste is interesting, different from what I remember.

I usher the three stooges back into the bar, hoping no one notices Cuddy's condition, but knowing everyone will know. I'm excited to see what happens.

The night progresses and Cuddy makes a fool of herself, trying to act straight, and eventually disappears. Henri ingests more alcohol than any human being should and I finally decide to bring her home. As we're leaving, I see Cuddy making out with someone and when the light catches them, to my delight I discover it's Wilson. I can't wait to hold this over them for the rest of their lives. Laughing, I get Henri into the car and drive us home.

I'm hoping for drunken, kinky sex and instead am rewarded with having to hold Henri's hair from her face as she throws up. She's crying, babbling incoherently, and as shitty as the situation is, I would never do this for any other woman.


	23. Chapter 23

I wake up and am assaulted by a throbbing headache and a churning stomach. The light shining into our bedroom is blinding. I groan and roll over, into the safety of House's body. The room is swaying back and forth and I can feel my stomach starting to curl and I know I'm about to puke. I jump out of bed as quickly as I can and I think I'm still drunk. On the way to the bathroom, I bump into everything imaginable before I fall to my knees, ignoring the pain and letting loose into the toilet.

A few moments later, I hear the rustling of the sheets as House gets out of bed and comes to the bathroom. I feel his presence in the door and I put my hand out as if to tell him not to come in; I don't want him seeing me like this.

He chuckles and tells me to save it; he made sure I didn't get it in my hair or choke on my own vomit until I passed out last night. I rest my cheek on the toilet seat and thank him before turning my head and throwing up again, nothing more than foul tasting yellow bile. He leaves me to my misery and I hear him bumping around in the kitchen. He returns with dry toast, setting it on the floor and then proceeds to get ready for work.

House kisses me on the forehead and tells me he'll get his own lunch and will call me later to see how I'm doing. He won't be home until late and I groan, upset that I'll be home alone all day.

After slowly eating the toast, I feel a bit better and am able to crawl back into bed, where I stay for the rest of the day. I wake up and it's late and House will be at the hospital for another few hours. I'm tired but feel much better. I get up and slowly dress, intending to bring House a little late night booty.

I get to the hospital and I see Cuddy leaving. I smile at her, remembering smoking the joint with her. She looks up and sees me and looks embarrassed. I tell her not to be, there's nothing wrong in it and I won't tell anyone, although it was pretty obvious to the rest of the party that she was high as a kite. She tells me she hasn't smoked pot since college and probably won't again, but she says she had fun and I can see she's thinking of something specific and I'm not sure what. I thank her for the party and go up to House's office.

I turn the corner and open the door and in front of me is a sight that stops me in my tracks. House and Cameron are standing in the middle of his office, kissing. Her hand is in his hair and her body is pressed up against his. I feel my heart plummet and I gasp. The sound breaks the silence and they turn and see me. The three of us just stand and stare for a few moments before I pull off my ring and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest and falls to the floor. I call Cameron a cunt and turn and walk away.

I walk away, ignoring Kutner's hello and go to the car. I sit for a moment before I smack the steering wheel. I knew it. I knew he wanted her and she wanted him. I drive back to the apartment and sit on the couch and start to cry. My world is shattered; the man I love is cheating on me. I have to wonder how long this has been going on. They've worked together for years, but nothing ever happened. Did she see me come in and date House and suddenly feel the need to take action? Once she couldn't have it, she wanted it?

I look down at my empty ring finger and wonder. If he was cheating, why would he propose to me? Did he really mean to marry me or did he just give it to me in hopes that I would be blind to his cheating? I'm not sure, but I don't know what to do.

xXxXx

I wake up to Henri burrowing into me and groaning. I love the feel of her warm body against mine but the feeling doesn't last long. She jumps out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom, bumping into everything on her way there. I hear her retch and I know the hangover is a rough one.

I get out of bed and hobble to the bathroom, where she's paying homage to the porcelain god. She puts up her hand as if to tell me to get away. I tell her to save it; I made sure she didn't get it in my hair or choke on it until she passed out. I actually watched her sleep for a while to make sure she was done purging everything she'd ever eaten. She rests her cheek on the toilet seat and thanks me before turning her head and throwing up again, nothing but bile.

I turn and go to the kitchen and make her some toast while I eat a bowl of cereal; no hot breakfast for me today. I'll have to fend for myself. I bring the toast to her and set it on the floor and go get ready for work. I kiss her on the forehead and tell her I'll find my own lunch and will call her later to see how she's doing. I won't be home until late so she'll have to fight off the hangover alone today.

Last night was certainly an event. My fiancée got my boss high and then I caught Cuddy and Wilson in a very interesting situation. I can't wait to see what happened after we left. I had a reasonably good time, had some hot wings, good beer, watched the baseball game on the big screen like every other regular guy.

I get to the hospital and head for Wilson's office. He sees me and immediately tries to act as normal as possible, as if he didn't have his lips glued to Cuddy last night. I ask him how his evening went and he gives me the expected response. I ask him if Cuddy got into bed safely and he colors and tells me she did. He slept with her. I call him out on it and he doesn't deny it. My beeper goes off and I tell him he'd better give me details later or I'd tell the nurses.

I take care of my patient and do some clinic hours and head to my office, where I have a delightful dinner of various bags of chips procured from the vending machine; it's very similar to the lunch of M&Ms I had. Cameron comes in and tells me she had a good time last night and I congratulate her. She stands there for a moment before I ask her what the hell she wants.

She asks me if I'm really going to marry Henri and I stand and we're facing each other. I look into her face and tell her yes, I'm going to marry her. She tells me it's too bad and I want to know why. She raises her hands to my face and kisses me. This isn't the first time we've found ourselves in this position, but I seem to recall an ulterior motive last time; she had a needle in her hand.

Her hand is in my hair and her body is close to mine. She's a good kisser but she isn't Henri and she'll never be close to what Henri is to me. I'm about to break the kiss and tell Cameron to go find some other old cripple when I hear a gasp. Cameron turns around and I look up and we see Henri standing in the doorway.

The three of us stand there in tense silence for a moment before Henri yanks the ring off her finger and throws it at me. It hits me in the chest and falls to the ground. She calls Cameron a cunt and walks away. I call her name, trying to get her to come back.

I tell Cameron to get the hell out of my office and go back to Chase. I bend and pick the ring off the floor. Of course Henri had to come in at that exact moment, not before the kiss happened and not after, but during. I'm pissed off and head down to talk to Wilson, but find him in a very awkward position: sitting in his chair with Cuddy in his lap.

This day keeps going from good to bad to great.


	24. Chapter 24

He gets home late. I've got a pillow and blanket on the couch and I pretend to be asleep. I don't want to be in the same bed with him tonight. I'm not sure where I'm going to go, but I'm sure as hell not staying here anymore. He comes in and tells me to get up, he knows I'm not asleep; I'm not so tense when I'm asleep.

He sits on the edge of the couch and I tell him to fuck off. He tells me I'm naïve if I think he'd be with Cameron when he has a perfectly good, beautiful, smart Lolita waiting at home for him. I tell him it didn't look that way with his lips glued to her. He sighs, exasperated, and tells me that she kissed him first, that she's got a strange obsession with him that he understands but has tried to stop.

I tell him he must think I'm retarded if he thinks I'll believe him. He says he doesn't want Cameron and hasn't done anything with her. Besides, he says, he bets I'm a better cook than she is.

I yell at him and tell him not to make jokes, this is serious. I tell him I've never wanted to be the girl that gets all emotional over stupid crap, I've never wanted to be the girl who drags her guy around to look at fabric swatches and flower arrangements for their wedding, but he's taking no interest in it at all. Why would he propose and never talk about a timeframe for the wedding unless he was just trying to distract me from his affair?

He tells me I'm delusional, making these things up because I'm angry at what I saw. I shout at him, of course I'm angry at what I saw! Who wants to see the person they love kissing someone else? He grabs my wrists and pulls me close to him and shouts back at me. He doesn't want Cameron, for fuck's sake, he wants me and I need to understand that. He tells me Cameron kissed him and he didn't want it and that's that. After his big blow-up, we're silent for a while.

I ask him if he really wants to marry me and he says he does, he really does. He brushes the hair out of my eyes and takes my face in both hands and kisses me softly. He tells me again that he doesn't want Cameron, he wants me and he grabs my left breast to punctuate his point. He tells me I'd be stupid to think he didn't want me after the giant rock he got me, a symbol of his love that doesn't, in fact, mean anything other than the fact that he loves me enough to spend a shit ton of money on me. He takes my hand and slips the ring back onto my finger.

We make love and it's slow and sweet and passionate. Afterward, he pulls his boxers back on and goes to play the piano. I come up behind him and put my arms around his neck and kiss his ear. I watch his hands move over the keys, caressing them the way he touches me.

He tells me he caught Cuddy and Wilson together in his office and I laugh. They're both lonely people with good hearts and I hope they can make something out of this. House finds it hilarious and won't leave them alone about it. I tell him to be nice, that we should invite them out on a double date or something. He says it's a great idea, we can go bowling or some other equally cheesy activity and I know he's being sarcastic.

The next morning, House tells me to get out of bed, we have an appointment to get to and I'm confused. It's early and I don't remember making any kind of appointment or being told about one. He tells me to hurry up, he doesn't want to be late.

I get up and shower and dress and he drives us to City Hall. Wilson is waiting outside, looking irritated. We get out of the car and Wilson tells us we're late, he's been waiting. I ask him what we're doing here and he shrugs and we go in and approach the desk.

House tells the woman we're here for a marriage license and I laugh. Wilson is our witness. House and I answer the woman's questions, give our social security numbers, our IDs and after signing some documents, we have a marriage license.

xXxXx

After making fun of Cuddy and Wilson for a while, I get home late. I'm ready for a big confrontation and instead, I find Henri pretending to be asleep on the couch. She's trying to avoid talking to me, but making a statement that she's angry. I tell her to get up, I know she's not asleep; she's not so tense when she's asleep.

I sit on the edge of the couch and she tells me to fuck off. I tell her she's naïve if she thinks I'd be with Cameron when I have a perfectly good, beautiful, smart Lolita hanging out at my house waiting to screw me, willing to love me and marry me. She says it didn't look that way with my lips on her. I sigh, exasperated, and tell her that Cameron kissed me first, that she has a strange obsession with me that, although I understand, I've tried to stop.

She tells me I must think she's retarded if I think she'll believe me. I'm not in the mood for this shit, I hate fights and feelings and relationship crap. I tell her I don't want Cameron and haven't done anything with her. Besides, I say, I bet she's a better cook.

She yells at me, the only way she knows how to get her frustrations out, and tells me not to make a joke, it's serious. I am well aware of this fact. She tells me she's never wanted to be the girl to get emotional over stupid bullshit, the girl who drags her man to look at fabric swatches and flower arrangements for the wedding, but I'm taking no interest at all. I'm glad she's not that kind of girl; it's part of why I fell in love with her. She's right, though, I'm not taking interest in setting a date because I'm scared of it. The commitment is huge and I'll probably be a shitty husband. I'm selfish and I hate talking about all that touchy feely feelings crap.

She asks me why I would propose and never talk about a timeframe for the wedding unless I was just trying to distract her from my affair. I tell her she's delusional, making these things up because she's angry at what she saw. She shouts at me, of course she's angry at what she saw and I don't really blame her. Who wants to see the person you love kissing someone else? I know I would kill a man for kissing Henri. She's freaking out and I know I have to do something to control the situation and get her attention.

I grab her wrists and pull her close to me and shout at her. I tell her I don't want Cameron, for fuck's sake, I want her and I need her to understand that. I tell her Cameron kissed me and I didn't want it and that's that. We're silent for a while.

Softly, she asks me if I really want to marry her and I tell her I do, I really do. I brush the hair out of her eyes and take her lovely face in both hands and I kiss her softly. I tell her again that I don't want Cameron, I want her and I grab her left boob to make my point… and to grab a boob. I tell her she'd be stupid to think I didn't want her after the giant rock I bought her, a symbol of my love that doesn't, in fact, mean anything other than the fact that I love her enough to spend a shit ton of money on her. I take her hand and slip the ring back onto her finger.

We make love and it's slow and amazing. Afterward, I feel inspired and pull my boxers back on and I go and play the piano. She comes up behind me and puts her arms around my neck and kisses my ear. I tell her I caught Cuddy and Wilson together in his office and she laughs. She tells me to be nice, that we should invite them out on a double date or something. Just what I need, a double date. I say it's a great idea, we can go bowling or some other equally cheesy activity.

The next morning, I wake up extra early and I shower and dress and call Wilson. I've got an idea and I tell him to meet me outside City Hall at nine AM. He's pissed I woke him up, but I tell him it's very important that he be there. I wake Henri up and tell her to get out of bed, we have an appointment to get to. She's confused, but I tell her to hurry up, we don't want to be late. She showers and dresses and I drive us to City Hall. Wilson is waiting outside, looking irritated. We get out of the car and he tells us we're late, he's been waiting. Henri wants to know what we're doing and Wilson doesn't have any answers for her.

We go in and approach the desk and I tell the woman we're here for a marriage license and Henri laughs. I called Wilson in to be our witness. We answer a few questions and after signing documents, we have a marriage license.


	25. Chapter 25

We're married six weeks later on the first of December. It's a quiet ceremony, conducted by a justice of the peace that Wilson knew from one of his marriages. My dress is simple, an empire waist and cap sleeves, the hem falling to my knees. I have flowers in my hair. House wears a suit, no tie. The usual suspects are here: Cuddy, Wilson, Chase, Kutner, Stacy, my family, my college friends. Cameron is here to keep up appearances and because House still thinks of her as a friend. She's extremely touchy feely with Chase and I'm hoping she's opened her eyes and discovered she has a wonderful man to love her; a man that isn't _my_ man.

I meet House's mother for the first time. She was unaware of my existence until he'd asked me to move in with him and until now didn't know how serious it was. She's a sweet woman and is proud that her son found someone to love. She's here for two days only and I think House is secretly happy that she's here and that his father is dead and unable to come.

When I say I do, it feels so right and so perfect. We kiss and are announced as Mr. and Mrs. House. It's the happiest day of my life and I can't stop looking at House, my husband. I've fallen in love with a man more than twice my age, with a terrible attitude, a limp and a Vicodin addiction and I don't care about any of that. All he wanted was someone to talk to, someone to take care of him and have sex with him and we've turned it into marriage.

The reception is a blast, with a jazz band playing and an open bar, the liquor flowing. Our first dance is to "At Last," originally performed by Etta James. I ask him if I'm dreaming and he chuckles and kisses my forehead. He tells me no, unfortunately I did end up marrying him. I laugh and rest my head on his shoulder and we sway slowly to the music.

The song ends and we kiss and my father and I dance and House dances with Alexis, at her insistence. I watch as he lets her stand on his feet and he clumsily dances with her. My father tells me I look beautiful and he's happy for me. He wishes my mother were still around to see this and I agree with him.

The night is endless dancing and drinking. I dance with Wilson, Chase, Kutner, my brothers and House. I barely get a break between and when dinner is served, I'm glad to sit. I've been fighting off an ear infection the last few days and the antibiotics have been giving me an upset stomach, but nothing can ruin tonight.

I'm sitting between House and Cuddy and I notice she looks a little green and ask her if everything's okay. She looks up at me, her big blue eyes full of worry. In a hushed voice, she tells me that she's been trying to get pregnant for such a long time, but the embryos never took, but the night of the engagement party, she and Wilson had unprotected sex. She's pregnant, six weeks along.

I laugh, excited. Wilson wants children, this I know and I feel like their relationship has turned into something solid in the past few weeks. I ask her how he feels about it and she tells me she hasn't told him yet, hasn't told anyone yet. I hug her and congratulate her and reassure her that he'll be happy.

House, who we thought was busy talking to my father, turns to Wilson and congratulates him for knocking Cuddy up. There's silence at the table for a moment, everyone shocked. Cuddy tells House he's an asshole and he smiles that smile of his that says oh well! Leave it to House to completely ruin news.

At the end of the evening, we're driven back to our apartment and he apologizes for not being able to carry me over the threshold. I tell him I've never been one for the Disney fairytale and we walk into the house. We stand in the living room, holding each other and he thanks me for marrying him. I laugh and say he's welcome, any time. He says he loves me and I tell him I love him back.

We undress each other and fall into bed, our first time as a married couple. He takes a moment to look at my naked body and he tells me I'm gorgeous, calling me Mrs. House. This time is different and we both know it. There's something about our urgency, our need and we come simultaneously and it's earth shattering.

xXxXx

We're married six weeks later. The ceremony is simple, conducted by a justice of the peace and not some Bible thumping minister. Wilson serves as my best man and Gerri is Henri's maid of honor. Henri looks amazing, her hair up and little white flowers in it. Her dress is simple but hugs her body in all the right places and she looks sexy. I'm in a suit, no tie and I'm glad we didn't make a huge fuss about getting dressed up.

The usual suspects are here: Cuddy, Wilson, Chase, Kutner, Stacy, Henri's family and college friends. Cameron is here to keep up appearances and because although she nearly ruined Henri and I, I still like her as a person. She's extremely touchy feely with Chase and I think she's opened her eyes and discovered she loves him.

My mother is here, meeting Henri for the first time. I told her about her when she first moved in, but I don't think she realized how serious I was until now. She's here for only two days, meeting the woman I've been fortunate enough to fall in love with. She tells me she's proud of me and wishes my father was here to see it; I don't wish that. I'm glad he isn't here.

I've been nervous all day, but when I say I do, it feels right. We kiss and are announced as Mr. and Mrs. House. It's the happiest day of my life and I can't stop looking at Henri, my wife. I never thought there would be a Mrs. House. I'm an old crippled man with a bad, abrasive attitude and a Vicodin addiction and I'm married to a young, beautiful, intelligent woman who is unlike anyone I've ever known. All I wanted was someone to talk to, someone to take care of me and have sex with me and it's turned into marriage and I'm okay with that. Actually, I'm happy with it.

The reception is a blast, with a jazz band and an open bar and it's relaxed and stress-free. Our first dance is to "At Last" and I love the feeling of her slim, warm body under my hands as we dance. She asks me if she's dreaming and I laugh and kiss her forehead. I tell her no, unfortunately she did end up marrying me. She laughs and rests her head on my shoulder and we sway slowly to the music.

The song ends and we kiss and Henri and her father dance and at her urging, I dance with Alexis. I feel awkward when she stands on my feet and I take her hands and clumsily move her around the dance floor as best as I can with my bum leg.

The night is endless dancing and drinking. I dance with Cuddy, Sherry, my mother and Thirteen. I even have a quick rotation around the floor with Wilson. I barely get a break between and when dinner is served, I'm glad to sit. My leg is killing me and I have to take an extra couple of Vicodin in hopes that the pain will subside quickly enough to enjoy the rest of the evening.

I'm sitting between Henri and her father and I overhear Henri talking to Cuddy in whispers. I can't really hear much of what's said, but I pick up a few words and one of them perks my ears: pregnant. Cuddy hasn't had a drop of alcohol all night, which is unlike her at a party. She's been looking fatigued and now I know.

I turn to Wilson and congratulate him for knocking Cuddy up. There's silence at the table for a moment, everyone shocked. Cuddy tells me I'm an asshole and I give her that smile that says oh well! I know Cuddy has been trying to get pregnant for years and Wilson, a three time loser in marriage, wants children but until now has had no prospects. They've been giving the impression that this budding romance might turn into something real and I'm glad for them.

At the end of the evening, we're driven back to our apartment and I apologize for not being able to carry her over the threshold. I'm an old cripple and I can't do those romantic tasks that marriage requires. She tells me she's never been one for the Disney fairytale and we walk into the house. We stand in the living room, holding each other and I thank her for marrying me. I never thought anyone would like me enough to marry me and I never thought I'd like anyone enough to marry.

She says I'm welcome, any time. I tell her I love her and she says she loves me back. I also never thought I'd love someone so intensely.

We undress each other and fall into bed, our first time as a married couple. I take a moment to look at her naked body and I tell Mrs. House she's gorgeous. She really, truly is. I'm a lucky man to have such a beautiful woman to love. This time is different and we both know it. There's something about our urgency, our need and we come simultaneously and it's earth shattering.

xXxXx

A/N: Hey, readers... I just wanted to thank you for all the support. I'm nearly at 10,000 hits and that's amazing. I just wanted to let you guys know that I know I've spoiled you with nearly daily updates, but I may not update as often for the next couple of days. I've had the next 10 chapters written, but I discovered that I've gone in a direction that I'm not ready to be in so I'm doing a major rewrite. I've never written a story like this before, in first person, and I'm pleased to know that people seem to like it. I know at times my overlap may be daunting, but the method helps me get both characters' POVs in and it also helps me write faster and farther; I've never written something past 17 chapters. Anyway, keep up with reading and reviewing, I do appreciate it and if you guys ever have questions, let me know via review.


	26. Chapter 26

We honeymoon in Kenya for three weeks. It's one of those places House has never been and neither have I. We didn't want to be traditional and go to Paris or Rome to drink wine and eat cheese. We arrive in Nairobi after a sixteen hour flight with a stop over halfway, in Amsterdam. I'm so plastered from smoking there and drinking throughout the entire flight, House has to let me lean on him heavily.

It's dark out, about ten at night, so we can't see anything during the taxi ride into the city. The smell of diesel fuel is strong in the air and it's quite hot out; December is their summer. The second we get to the hotel, I pass out.

The next morning, we head out with our safari tour guide, Lema, a young man from a nearby village. We drive out of the city and are confronted with the sight of the shanty town, a massive city of shacks constructed from sheet metal, tarps and plywood. There's garbage in the streets and young children dressed in rags running around in the dirt. For a moment, I'm feeling poorly about coming here for what's supposed to be the most romantic vacation of our marriage.

It's when we get far away from the city that I see why we're here. The vast, open spaces take my breath away and there are herds of zebras and wildebeests everywhere. I never thought I would see something this beautiful, the contrast of the city and the grass lands is shocking.

The hotels and safari camps we stay in are all beautiful, all luxurious. When we aren't out on safari, looking at the animals and the scenery, we're in our room with our hands all over each other. We do it everywhere; in the bed, in the bathtub, on the balcony, on the floor of every room we're in.

He and I spend time by the pool, drinking ourselves into oblivion before going back to our room for more sex. We fall in love with a local beer, Tusker, and it's all we drink the entire time. We horseback ride, we try to golf, but his leg is in pain and we can only get through six of our nine holes. I go to the spa while he explores the grounds of the hotel.

It's relaxing and although he gets angry at me for taking too many pictures, I think he's having the time of his life. It's nice to get away from the hospital and the cases and the long, late nights for a while, but by the middle of our third week, he's dying to get back. You can distract House from the puzzles for a while, but eventually they begin to call to him and he can no longer be entertained by mundane things such as a safari at the base of Kilimanjaro.

We get back to Jersey two days before Christmas. My hatred for Christmas makes me wish we could've stayed out of the country a little longer so I wouldn't have to see bright little Christmas trees and fat Santas. I sent out Borders bookstore gift cards to everyone before we left so I wouldn't have to worry about anything upon our return.

There's a wreath on the door and I toss it into the road and House laughs and kisses me. Our mail is stacked neatly on the kitchen counter, courtesy of Wilson, and I see we have a few FedEx packages, likely presents from my family. We're both glad to be home, I can tell, and so I open a bottle of wine to celebrate.

We have several messages on the machine and after the first three about welcoming us back, House deletes the rest and pulls my pants down. I laugh and unbutton my shirt and he backs me into the bedroom, where we stay until we pass out from exhaustion and jet lag.

xXxXx

We honeymoon in Kenya for three weeks, my choice. I've never been to Kenya, and neither has Henri so I figured it'd be the perfect place. I didn't want to go anywhere I'd already been, or anywhere cliché like Paris or Rome. I'm not sure how romantic a place like Kenya is, but it's new and interesting. We get our shots and Henri nearly passes out, but her consolation prize is that she won't get yellow fever in the next decade.

We arrive in Nairobi after a sixteen hour flight with a stop over halfway, in Amsterdam. Having Henri and I in Amsterdam for a few hours was like letting kids loose in a candy shop. I want to get us a hooker, but she instead uses up the entire time smoking weed. She eats four bags of chips and then starts in on the beers on the flight and by the time we land, she's hammered. Henri has to lean on me heavily.

It's dark out, about ten, and we can't see anything around us except a bit of the road and occasional car dealerships and shopping centers. The air smells like diesel fuel and it's damn hot outside; December is their summer and I wish I had some shorts on. The second we get to the hotel, Henri passes out. I wander around the hotel, looking at the local art decorating the halls and the lobby.

I end up having a conversation with a Hindu man in the bar and we both demolish a bottle of bourbon. I enjoy speaking in other languages; it's a great brain exercise and polishes my pronunciation.

The next morning, we head out with our safari tour guide, Lema, a young, very dark man from a nearby village. We drive out of the city and Henri is shocked at the poverty that surrounds us. We're going by a shanty town, a collection of shacks constructed with anything the occupants can find. There's garbage everywhere, little kids running around in rags. Henri looks like she might cry and is regretting agreeing to come here.

It's when we get farther away from the city that we're both struck by the vast, open spaces of the grass lands. There are herds of gazelles and giraffes and elephants wandering all over and it's nothing less than amazing.

The hotels and safari camps we stay in are the best; I may have dragged my wife into the middle of nowhere, but I won't let her be mad because we stay in a dirty little tent. When we aren't out on safari, looking for rare animals and admiring the scenery, we're in our hotel room banging like a couple of rabbits. I try to have her in a different place every time we do it.

We lie down by the pool, drinking ourselves into oblivion before going back to our room for more sex; I like her in nothing but her bikini top. We drink a copious amount of the local beer, Tusker, a lager with an elephant on the front. We horseback ride at her insistence and we try to golf, but my leg is in pain and we can only get through six of our nine holes. Henri goes to the spa and although I can manage a massage, the rest of that shit isn't for me so I wander around the hotel grounds.

The vacation is relaxing and I'm having a great time, but Henri takes too many god damn pictures. Do we really need a picture of a blue bird 100 yards too far away to see clearly? It's been nice to be away from Cuddy's nagging and Wilson's worrying and the bullshit that comes with new patients and late nights away from Henri. By the end of the trip, I'm itching to get back. I miss my puzzles and my mysteries and those are things that even a safari at the base of Kilimanjaro can distract me from.

We get back to New Jersey two days before Christmas. My hatred for Christmas matches Henri's, something surprising; most people love the holiday season and there's no one I know who hates it as much as I do other than Henri. She wishes we could've stayed out of the country for a little while so we could have avoided the entire thing. She's disgusted by the shiny tinsel, the blinking tree lights and the obese, bearded men in red suits. We sent out Borders bookstore gift cards to everyone before we left so she wouldn't feel guilty about not getting anyone anything upon our return.

There's a wreath on the door and she tosses it into the street and I laugh and kiss her; this confirms that she's the woman for me. It was probably put up by Wilson, who collected and neatly organized our mail while we were away. There's a few packages, too, probably from the in-laws. We're both glad to be home, so Henri opens some wine to celebrate.

We have several messages on the machine and after the first three about welcoming us back, I delete the rest and pull Henri's pants down, intending to celebrate our return a different way. She unbuttons her shirt and I back her into the bedroom, where we stay until we pass out from exhaustion and jet lag.


	27. Chapter 27

New Year's rolls around and after the debacle that was the hospital Christmas party, House and I decide the public could do without us for an evening. Thirteen and I ended up getting completely plastered and were caught making out in Exam Room Two before House, who was equally smashed, came to collect me. He was amazed and turned on and tried to join in before I told him I didn't want his lips near another woman and I'm sure Thirteen wasn't about to let him in on the fun anyway.

Cameron ended up having to drive the two of us home and I confessed my forgiveness to her before I hung my head out the door and threw up on the sidewalk. House and I stumbled into the apartment and knocked over a lamp before I passed out and House spent half the night in the bathroom vomiting.

House and I have Wilson and Cuddy over for dinner and drinks to bring in the New Year. Over the past few weeks, they've taken the opportunity to weigh their options and decide how they want to proceed. I knew Cuddy would want to keep the baby no matter what, but they've decided to do it together; and I mean _together_. They've both wanted the love and stability of a family and through a strange turn of events, they've both gotten what they wanted and they seem extremely happy.

I've cooked a huge dinner and they bring an apple pie. There's ham, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and biscuits. I've taken hours to prepare the food and it makes me happy to see it well received. Wilson is doting on Cuddy, making sure she's eating enough, making sure she's comfortable and it makes me smile. He's sweet and dorky and I can see that although he might be nervous about how fast things are going with Cuddy, he's happy.

After the death of Amber, I'm guessing he never wanted to try to love anyone ever again, but now he has a beautiful woman who cares about him, pregnant with his child and a good friend he's known for years. He was so hurt, so wounded for a long time and when this essentially fell into his lap, it opened his eyes and he discovered that life could be good again.

While I'm doing the dishes, Cuddy comes in and asks if she can help, but I decline and ask her how she feels. She's exhausted but happy. No morning sickness, due in mid-July. She looks like she's walking on clouds and I think Wilson is, too. They may be starting a family a little late and under strange circumstances, but better late than never.

Sometimes I wonder what my children would look like if House and I ever managed to procreate. I'm not the mothering type; I envy Cuddy for having that built-in instinct to want to be a mother. I've never thought about when or if I'd have kids and I know House isn't exactly warm to the idea. I don't even know what would have happened had I not miscarried earlier this year. I don't want to know. My hope is that I won't have to confront the issue. I'm happy for Wilson and Cuddy, but it's not quite the thing for me.

The four of us sit around while House and Wilson play chess and Cuddy and I watch the crappy New Year's Eve television. We have a fire going in the fireplace and we're drinking a nice Shiraz. At midnight, we toast with champagne and I can't help but think there's nowhere I'd rather be than with these people, kissing my husband and entering a new year.

The next day, it's a new day and a new year and I roll over and look at House, who's sleeping. I burrow into the covers and press my face into the side of his neck and kiss him there. He groans, deep in his throat and rolls over, his face near mine.

I watch him sleep, his face intense but relaxed. I had a nice time last night and he was good about it. I know he wanted to have a holiday alone, but I figured it'd be good to have other people around after being consistently with ourselves for the past few weeks.

When he wakes up, he doesn't swear at me for staring at him, but he pushes me onto my back and slides off my panties. I love this man.

xXxXx

When New Year's comes around and after the complete disaster that was the hospital Christmas party, Henri and I decide we should secure ourselves inside for the evening. After drinking her weight in Jack Daniel's, Henri ended up in Exam Room Two with Thirteen, definitely a sight I will never forget and will always keep in the spank bank. I wanted to see if they'd let me join in, but Henri wouldn't have any of it and as hot as she is, I couldn't actually do anything with Thirteen.

Cameron ended up having to drive us home and Henri decided that that would be the perfect time to forgive her for kissing me. She mumbles about knowing she really loves Chase and then stuck her head out the door and threw up on the sidewalk. When we got into the apartment, we stumbled around and knocked over a lamp before she passed out and I spent half the night puking in the bathroom.

Henri invites Wilson and Cuddy over for dinner and drinks, much to my dismay. I wanted to spend the evening getting plastered and having sex. Henri is more into socializing than I am, and since Cuddy brings an apple pie, I'm okay with it. I like pie.

Over the past few weeks, the two of them have taken the opportunity to weigh their options and decide how they want to proceed. I knew Cuddy would want to keep the baby no matter what, but they've decided they both want it and they're going to raise the baby together and try to have a relationship with each other. It boggles my mind that after so many years of knowing each other, it was marijuana that brought them together.

I'm uncomfortable with all the pregnancy around us. Pregnancy in others inspires a desire for pregnancy in your spouse. We never talked about what would have happened had Henri not miscarried. I'm glad she did; I'm not sure what I would have done otherwise. I like children for the most part, but at least I can hang out with them for a while and then leave. With your own kids, they're glued to you for life.

Henri has cooked a huge dinner and it looks good; there's ham, green bean casserole with the crunchy onions on top, mashed potatoes and biscuits. Wilson is doting on Cuddy, making sure she's eating enough, making sure she's comfortable and it makes me sick. He's such a bumbling little nerd and he's nervous that he's about to be a father. They've both getting exactly what they've always wanted. I wouldn't trade places with him for anything.

As Henri and Cuddy talk in the kitchen, I ask Wilson if he's crazy. He laughs and tells me he's happier than he's ever been in his life. I think of Amber and how he was like a little hurt puppy and never wanted to care for anyone again. I'm relieved he's over all of that and has opened his eyes to his stupidity.

Cuddy's pregnancy is an easy one, no morning sickness. She's due in mid-July. They're both so happy, giving each other googly eyes and kissing in front of me. Gross.

The four of us sit around while I destroy Wilson at chess and Henri and Cuddy watch some intolerable New Year's Eve television. Henri made me start a fire in the fireplace and we're drinking a nice red wine. At midnight, we toast with champagne and I'm glad Henri's the one I'm kissing. I'm proud that she's my wife. I never thought I'd marry, especially after the disaster that was my relationship with Stacy.

The next day, I wake up to Henri staring at me again. She's pressed against my body and it feels good. Sometimes I expect to wake up and find myself alone again, my bed cold and empty, but every day I wake up and she's still there, I find it amazing. Instead of yelling at her for staring at me, I push her onto her back and slide off her panties and she doesn't protest for a moment. I love this girl.


	28. Chapter 28

I'm out doing errands a few weeks later, getting our dry cleaning, getting a few baby gifts for my brother and getting a few things at the grocery store. I stop and get a bunch of hot coffees, intending to bring them to the hospital for a chat with House and the rest of the team. Last night, House decided it would be fun to stumble into the apartment with Wilson and Kutner at four in the morning, drunk off their asses, and start singing. In retaliation, I stole House's Vicodin and replaced it with aspirin. I know he'll be an asshole later, but I'll have fun yanking an apology out of him.

As I'm backing out of my parking space, I'm suddenly rammed from the side and I hear metal scraping against metal and glass breaking. I curse loudly. What asshole tries to get by someone backing up? I get out of the car, fuming. I'm confronted with a tall man with light hair in his mid forties and I see from the car he's in and the light on the dashboard, he's a cop.

I tell him one would think a cop would know better than to pull a stunt like that and he says he was heading out on a call. I tell him he could have thought about the safety of the citizens around him before he went zipping through the parking lot.

He apologizes and I tell him it's not accepted, he's an idiot and we trade insurance cards. He looks at mine for a minute, eyebrows furrowed. He asks if I'm related to Dr. Gregory House and I tell him yes, as a matter of fact, he's my husband. I ask if he's a disgruntled patient and he shrugs. The guy tells me I must be insane to marry House and asks me if I'm psychiatrically sound enough to be driving.

I call him a motherfucker and tell him to get the hell away from me. He tells me he sees now where the attraction to House is, I'm just as much of a crazy person as he is. Without thinking of the consequences, I swing my purse and smack him in the chest. When I do this, the bottle of Vicodin falls out and rolls over the pavement.

He stoops, picks it up and smiles. He makes a comment about people never changing and takes out his handcuffs. He makes me put my hands behind my back and he reads me my rights and all I can think is that House must have done something awful to this guy.

I'm arrested for assaulting an officer and possession of narcotics; the fact that he provoked me and the pills are prescription doesn't seem to matter. In what I believe to be a vindictive move, I'm refused my one phone call for three hours. I finally get some info on this cop; Tritter, the guy who nearly sent House to prison.

When I finally get my phone call, I call House and he's furious. I tell him to keep it cool so he doesn't come in and get arrested, too, but I know something's going to happen because he's not only pissed about Tritter, but he's figured out what I did to his pills. He threatens to leave me in here for a while because he'll never get the pills back but when I start to cry, he relents. I'm not crying because I'm in jail; I've been arrested before and I know how to handle myself. I'm crying because I know that'll make him take action and do something about this.

As I wait, I wonder what the hell we can do to make this go away. The guy is obviously unhinged and has it out for House and is trying to get to him through me. The fact that he couldn't get the charges on House to stick is eating away at him and so now he has to try and get him another way. Vindictiveness is a trait they both share; self hate?

xXxXx

I wake up with a screaming headache. I'm naked, lying on the couch with a bucket beneath my head. The apartment is quiet and I see on my cell phone that it's almost noon; Henri isn't here. I grab my pills and pop three, washing it down with a glass of water thoughtfully left on the table. I have a vague recollection of coming in last night after a long night at the bar with Kutner and Wilson. I also remember singing to Henri and she was quite unhappy with my behavior.

I dress and get to the hospital, hungover but functional. I notice that by the time I get to the hospital, my leg is still in pain and my headache is still here. I take a closer look at my pills; they're not Vicodin. Out of spite, Henri has traded my pills for aspirin and I'm furious. I know she's just trying to get back at me for last night, but she's going to be rewarded with me being an extremely irritated old bastard when I get home later.

I call her and get no answer and rant into the phone, telling her to bring my pills to the hospital before I call in a favor and have her tires slashed. I get a new prescription and forget about it for a while.

Around two, I walk into my office and Taub tells me that Henri called and is on hold. I ask if she's apologizing for taking my pills and he says no, but she's in jail. I think about laughing and not answering the phone, but I decide I'd like to make fun of her and tell her how much she deserves it.

I pick up the receiver and start yelling at her, telling her she got exactly what was coming for stealing an old cripple's pills. When she tells me what happened, my blood boils. She's been in jail for hours without a phone call because she happened to get into an accident with, of all people, Tritter. She's been arrested for assaulting an officer and possession of narcotics. Where does this guy get off? He couldn't get me, now he's trying to get my wife.

I threaten to leave her in jail because I'll never get the pills back. She starts to cry and now I know I'm in trouble. She knows exactly how to get to me; I hate tears and I'll do anything to avoid them or make them go away. I tell her I'll be there when I can.

I call Stacy, the one lawyer I know I can trust and the one lawyer I can tolerate. She's busy, in the middle of a case, and isn't enthusiastic about coming all the way down to get my young wife out of jail. I warn her that if she doesn't come down, I'll send her husband detailed letters of the things she and I used to do when we were together.

I wait a couple of hours before Stacy comes and picks me up; she's completely unhappy about racing down here. She lectures me about how two people who get in such trouble marrying isn't always a good idea and I know she's kidding.

We get to the station and Stacy advises me to keep my mouth shut. We walk in and when Tritter sees me, he smiles that oily, slick smile of his and I could just shove my cane where the sun doesn't shine. I get a look from my attorney and she tells the clerk at the desk that we're here to bail out Henrietta House.

We start the paperwork and Tritter swaggers up and comments that he's glad I've found someone who shares my particular interests and I tell him I'm sorry he can't find one of his own, law-abiding women don't tend to like strap-ons. He tells me that he may not be able to get the drug addicted doctors into jail, but he sure as hell can get the unhinged, drug addicted wives of drug addicted doctors into jail.

I'm about to do something I know I'll regret when there's a scream from back where the cells are. A deputy shoots in the door and I hobble as quickly as I can to get back there. If anything is happening to Henri, I'll murder Tritter and use him for medical experiements.

xXxXx

A/N: HEY! All you Americans out there! Don't forget to VOTE on November 4th! It's my first election and I'm so excited and you should be too! This is a historical election and it's your chance to make an impact on your world!


	29. Chapter 29

I'm in my cell, waiting for House to get here when Tritter brings in another woman and introduces her as my cell mate. She's twitching and itchy and her eyes are glassy; she's completely tweaked. There are other open cells to put her in, but he's trying to punish me by shoving a crackhead in with me. He smiles and walks away.

For about an hour, the woman sits on the floor with her head and back against the wall. She rocks her head back and forth, muttering. She's probably in her late thirties, her hair a matted, dirty mess. She's wearing several mismatched layers of frayed, torn, filthy clothes and she smells like garbage.

She's so skinny, it's frightening. I don't deny that I myself am too thin, but I know if you could see her without clothes, you'd see her ribs and her hips as if her skin were draped over her bones. I wonder how she came to this. At one point she was a baby and a toddler and a child; maybe even a loved child. Did she come to this by birth or did she come to this by puberty or did she come to this by a later mental illness or tragedy?

She struggles to her feet after a while and asks me a question and I ignore her; I have no patience for her nonsense. She asks again, louder, and I ignore her again. Out of nowhere, her fist connects with my right eye and the pain is an explosion. I'm knocked back and hit the concrete floor, the crack of my head on the floor resonating throughout the cell and I see stars.

The crackhead climbs on top of me, screaming, calling me Allie and asking where her money is as her bony fingers close around my throat. I claw at her hands as they tighten and press against my windpipe. I can't breathe and my lungs are burning, needing air desperately. I wonder if this is how I'll end, strangled by a crackhead in jail. I suppose perhaps it's appropriate after the life I've led.

I hear shouting suddenly and the jingle of keys as someone tries to get into the cell. I'm fighting to hold onto consciousness, but I feel it slowly slipping away. Relief finally comes when the woman is pried off of me and I'm rewarded with gasps of air. I roll over onto my side, nauseous, and I throw up, coughing and trying to breathe at the same time.

House rushes over to me and I stand shakily, my legs like Jell-O, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. Stacy is in the doorway, appalled, and a deputy has the crackhead in handcuffs. She's screaming and violent, kicking out and trying to free herself, yelling about Allie and money. My face is throbbing and my neck is sore and my throat burns when I take a breath. This day has gone from normal to shit to complete insanity.

House is concerned, looking over me and asking me if I'm okay. I push past him and past Stacy and storm over to Tritter. I yell at him and ask him what he was thinking, trying to get to me by putting a crackhead in the cell with me. I wonder if he knew that she was violent, I wonder if we looked into her files if there would be a history of psychiatric illness or violence or assault. He says nothing as I rant and rave about the problem with wrath and trying to get revenge when the wrong-doing was so long ago and means nothing. I continue to shout, telling him I'm going to sue him till he doesn't even have a shirt on his back, sue the department for negligence and harassment and he just stares at me.

I want to know what he's looking at and from behind me, House says I'm bleeding. I feel it hot and wet, running down my neck and I don't remember what it's from. It's coming from a tender spot at the back of my head and there's some running out of my right ear. Now I feel how woozy I really am. The world rocks back and forth and gets dark and my knees give out and I fall.

The last thing I see is the ceiling and the last thing I hear is House shouting my name.

xXxXx

I get near the cell and I see Henri on the floor, a dirty woman sitting on her chest, her hands on her throat. I scream at the deputy to open the fucking door before Henri is killed. She's clawing at the hands around her neck and slowly the clawing becomes slower and weaker. Her eyes are fluttering and I think she's about to lose consciousness.

The deputy finally opens the door and grabs the homeless woman around the waist and hauls her up and drags her out of the cell. Henri gasps for breath and turns over and vomits. I hobble over to her, intending to kneel down and hold her but she pushes herself up and stands. She looks a little unsteady and I look her over, concerned

Her eye is starting to swell; she's been hit and will have quite an awful shiner later. Her throat looks red and that'll be bruised, too. I'm angry that someone would do this to her, that Tritter would let this happen to her. This has crossed the line and he will pay. I ask her if she's okay and she walks away and starts laying it on Tritter.

She accuses him of doing this on purpose and knowing that the crackhead was violent. She tells him that she's going to sue him and the department and I know that's exactly what I want to do now. I look down and on the floor where she'd been lying down, next to her vomit, is a bright smear of blood. She hit her head. The vomit could be a sign of a concussion or worse.

I look up at her and Tritter is staring at her, not saying anything and I see why. The back of her head is matted with blood and it's running down her neck. Her right ear is also dripping with blood and I'm filled with dread. I tell her she's bleeding and her hand goes to the back of her head, where she gingerly feels around. Her fingers go to her ear and come back wet with the blood.

She looks up and she's about to loose consciousness. Her eyes roll up in the back of her head and her knees buckle, bringing her to the ground. I shout her name and cradle her head as she falls so she doesn't hit her head again. I tell Tritter to call an ambulance and that he'd better pray she's okay or I'll come after him.

I'm riding in the ambulance, holding her hand and I haven't been this scared in a long time. At least the last time she was in the hospital, she was awake the entire time and it wasn't something that could be life-threatening. It's hard to tell if it's a skull fracture or just a concussion; it's possible the bruising near her eye and ears is from what the crackhead did to her, or it could mean a fracture.

Cameron meets us at the door of the ER and I tell her not to fuck this up. She tells me to back off so she can do the examination. Henri's hooked up to an IV and she opens her eyes but she's disoriented. Cameron uses her flashlight on her eyes and one pupil is bigger than the other. Henri has no recollection of what happened after the crackhead punched her. Cameron decides it's a concussion, but I tell her to do a CT scan to ensure there's no fracture or brain injury. As Henri's nose and right ear start bleeding as she's heading to her scan, she becomes frantic. I know there's something wrong and I try my best to get her calm so we can get a clear CT scan.

There's a hairline fracture in her skull and all we can do for her head is make sure it doesn't get worse and give her pain meds. I'm infuriated. This happened because of me; this happened because a cop couldn't deal with the fact that I got away with my pain and the solution to my pain. I will sue him into the ground unless I lose my control and kill him first. Henri is everything to me.


	30. Chapter 30

Two months later, my head is fine and there are no after effects from the fracture. We sued the department, but they settled and dropped the charges and I got $15,000. Thankfully, Tritter was fired. For a while, I was feeling awful after the incident. My eye was purple and swollen shut and I had a nice necklace of eggplant-colored bruises around my neck. I didn't want House to see my face like that, didn't want to make him touch me when I looked so disgusting, but he was surprisingly okay about it.

He's been at the hospital for three days, stopping at home only for a quick meal and a change of clothes. I've been alone and bored for too long and I can't wait any longer. I made a purchase with some of the settlement money and I think he'll appreciate the irony. I bought some coke with the police department's money and I wanted to see if he'd share it with me, but it's been sitting in my purse for three days and it's calling to me.

I don't do hard drugs very often. I'm mostly into weed and alcohol, the occasional pill. I've done coke a handful of times in my life, usually due to a special occasion or being around people with questionable backgrounds. I've done ecstasy, mushrooms and cocaine. I've never touched heroin or crack, nor will I ever.

I grab a CD case of mine and pour some of it out. I'd never use one of his CDs; god forbid there was powder or a scratch on something of his. I'm breaking it up and making lines and I wish he was here with me, it would be much more fun that way. I roll up a $100 bill because it makes me feel like a bad ass to snort coke with one.

I inhale and it goes shooting up my nose, tingly and burning. I go to the other nostril to even it out and use my pinky to pick up some remaining dust and smear it inside my gums and on my lips. The numbness in my nostrils and on my gums and lips adds to the experience but when the stuff starts dripping down the back of my throat, I taste that bitter aspirin taste and have to down a glass of water.

After a few more lines, my body is tingling and I'm high and having a hard time sitting still. I have to do something with my hands, so I start to cook. I probably won't eat for the next 12 hours, but House might be hungry later. Between chopping vegetables and seasoning, I do more coke. My heart is fluttering and I'm getting the jitters and now is a good time for a little marijuana to balance me out.

When House gets home, tired and hungry, I'm in a whirlwind. I've got some Nirvana blasting on the stereo and I'm sitting on the couch, drawing an extremely detailed tree on the back of an envelope that once held the electric bill. I'm shaking my leg and when I hear House come in, I jump up. I'm so happy to be with another human being and my whole body is singing from my high.

He knows something's up when I grab him by the sleeve and lead him into the kitchen and tell him I made chicken pot pie for him and cleaned the closet and drew a tree on the electric bill and my mouth is going a mile a minute and he stops me, puts his hands on both of my shoulders and asks me what I'm on. I smile and point to the CD case and tell him I tried to wait for him to do it together but he's always working so I had to.

He looks around the room, how it's clean in some places and a complete disaster in other places where I've made my little nest of drawings, magazines, glasses and of course the drugs. I'm jittery and looking at him, I want him. I've never been one to want to be touched when I'm doing drugs; quite the opposite, I want to be left alone and the last thing on my mind is sex. When I look at him, though, I can't help but want him.

He doesn't think coke would be a good idea for him, so I push him towards the bedroom, demanding satisfaction. I wear him out, having him on the bed and the floor and in the shower and he falls asleep and I continue on my madness, drawing and cleaning and doing coke and smoking weed. I know when I crash, I'll crash hard, but that isn't on my mind when there's powder on the table and a rolled up bill in my hand.

xXxXx

Two months later, Henri's head is fine and there are no after effects from the fracture. We sued the police department and they settled, handing over $15,000 and dropping all charges. That motherfucker Tritter was dismissed from the station and I couldn't be happier. Henri was excited about the money, but the entire time she was insecure about the way her face looked. She looked like a punching bag, purple and black bruises around her delicate neck and marring her beautiful face. She didn't want me to see her face like that, didn't want to "make" me touch her when she looked so awful, but through the bruises, she was still my beautiful Henri.

I'm dog tired, I've been at the hospital for three days trying to fight against the clock to save two siblings from something that's been slowly killing them. I've only been home quickly, for a meal and a change of clothes. In a moment when my team is off running tests, I'm sitting at my desk and I'm bored. I need to give my mind a break from thinking, so I wander over to Wilson's office. He's going over his files and looks relieved that I've come to distract him.

I ask Wilson if he's crazy, having a baby with Cuddy. He shrugs that shrug that drives me up a wall and he tells me he cares about her and thinks he's falling in love with her. I want to know how one can know someone and work with someone for years, never have any feelings, and then one drunken night in bed makes them fall in love. I want to know how a three time loser like Wilson thinks he can make this work. He doesn't know, but he thinks he can do it.

Wilson asks me if I'd ever want children with Henri and I scoff. I tell him I would be a shit father and everyone knows it. His and Cuddy's desperation for children may be a common instinct in most people, but not me. He reminds me that Henri is a young woman and although she might not be thinking about it now, she might in the future. I don't want that reminder; change is just not something I want to deal with or think about. He asks me what I'd have done if Henri had never miscarried and I tell him I don't know; she _did_ miscarry so we'll never know.

He tells me I'll never change and I know this. He thought getting married marked a change in me, but it only meant I finally found someone who could tolerate me. I tell him it's because I found someone I can tolerate. I ask him if Cuddy's boobs are as nice as they look in the shirt and he smirks and tells me to get back to work. That's a yes.

I go back and after a few more hours, the case is solved and I head home. I'm exhausted and hungry and looking forward to maybe getting Henri in the shower with me. I park and I can hear music from the sidewalk. She's listening to some of that grungy crap that I don't understand and when I walk into the apartment, I find her sitting in a chair, furiously scribbling and rocking back and forth. She hears me come in and bolts up, looking manic and happy to see me.

She grabs me by the sleeve and drags me into the kitchen and starts jabbering away about the chicken pot pie she made, the cleaning she did and the drawing of a tree on the back of the electrical bill. I have to stop her and I put my hands on her shoulders and ask her what she's on. Her pupils are dilated and she's going a mile a minute. She points over to the coffee table and says she tried to wait to share it, but I'm always working so she had to.

On the coffee table, there's one of her CD cases with coke all over it. There's a glass pipe with half-smoked marijuana and there are beers littered all over the table. She's essentially on rocket fuel and I can see she's a mess. She's cleaned most of the apartment, but the coffee table area is a complete mess. I look at her again and she can't sit still and I see a little powder residue in her nostril.

I don't care that she's on drugs, that's fine. I'm not one for coke, it makes me too jittery and messy, but I'm flattered she tried so hard to save some for me. Her eyes are glassy, but she's looking at me like I'm a piece of meat and I like it. She offers me some coke and I decline, and she pushes me toward the bedroom, demanding satisfaction. She completely wears me out and I finally pass out around two in the morning, hoping to sleep as late as possible.

I wake up the next day and Henri is sitting in the living room, watching TV episodes on the TiVo. She hasn't slept yet, I can tell, and there's not a trace of coke left in the bag or on the CD case. She's pale and calmer, but I know she's coming down and I know how much that hurts. I roll her a joint and she looks grateful; the weed will calm her down and lessen the effects of the withdrawal. When she's finally asleep, I'm relieved. She's quite a nut job when she's high like that. I go about the rest of my day, playing the piano and watching General Hospital while she sleeps off her hangover.


	31. Chapter 31

After my coke episode, I decided that blowing a bunch of money up my nose wasn't the best idea, especially since I don't have a job. I don't like to be so dependent like this and I'm trying my hardest to find a decent job. What can an English major do that's actually interesting? I would probably shoot myself being in an office all day and I'm not riding on the delusion that I'll be a famous writer someday.

House has a day off finally and I wake him up for early morning sex. Afterwards, he runs his hands all over my body in some sort of lazy massage. I love mornings like this, where we're completely lethargic and don't care if the world comes to an end around us; as long as we're here, together, in bed. He turns over and I kiss along his shoulders and climb on top of him and press my breasts against his back, my cheek against his neck.

I tell him we should go for a ride on the motorcycle, but it's March and a little cold. I say we should just keep driving south until it isn't cold anymore and he makes a noise like he might be considering it. I tell him if we just keep going, we can be in warm territory in a short eight hours. He laughs and says he isn't sure eight hours is short enough for a random trip to someplace warm on a motorcycle.

I tell him to take the next couple of days off from work and we can go on an impromptu vacation. He chuckles and turns over, causing me to fall. He raises himself up on his elbows and looks at me for a moment, weighing the decision. I love spontaneity, being able to pick up and go whenever I want to. House, however, is into spontaneity only if the people around him are surprised; he never wants someone else to have the upper hand, he needs to carefully calculate and plan.

He reminds me we just got back from a vacation no more than two months ago and I know this, but now's a good time, too. He kisses me and tells me we can go on a motorcycle ride, but we'll save the vacation for another time. I'm disappointed, but I forget about it when he follows me into the shower.

He looks at me and my body and he can't help but feel like an old, crusty bastard. I don't care. I see past the weathered face and the graying hair, past the scars of his gunshot wounds and the void where his thigh should be. I don't pay attention to these things like he thinks I do. My skin is smooth and flawless, without wrinkles and with only a few minor scars and he focuses on the contrast between us. I focus on my undying attraction to him and the man he is, not on the scars or his age.

I blow dry my hair as he sits in the living room, playing the guitar. Days like this are what I live for and I pull on my favorite jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt he got for me when we went to a concert together. I go and I kiss him and for a moment, we're making out with the guitar between us. I break the kiss and smile and tell him I want to get on the bike. I throw on a sweater and my leather jacket and he does the same.

We're zipping through the streets, I'm holding onto him for dear life and we're going way too fast but I feel safe with him. We head outside of town, through scenic routes and along country roads. The sound of the wind whipping past us is deafening and I just take in the look of the trees, still bare, and the large empty spaces of farmland.

There's no one on earth I'd rather be with, doing this and feeling this. When we're together, it's like nothing else matters and it's just the two of us and it could be that way forever. Being on the motorcycle with him gives me such a feeling of freedom and invincibility and makes me feel such love for him.

xXxXx

Henri wakes me up for morning sex. As always, it's amazing and just how I needed to start my day off. Afterwards, I run my hands all over her perfect body, this body that brings me so much love and pleasure. I turn over and she kisses along my shoulders and climbs onto me, pressing her breasts against my back and her cheek on the back of my neck. I love it when she does this and covers my body with hers. Her breath is hot and soft against my ear and the world could end, but as long as we're like this, together, in bed, I wouldn't care. I'd say good riddance.

She wants to take a ride on the motorcycle, but it's March and I don't want her to be cold. She tries to convince me that if we can just keep driving, go south for a few hours, we could end up someplace warm. It sounds like a nice break from life, from the dreary, cloudy weather of New Jersey. Even if we did go, I'm old and tired and couldn't be on a bike for that long. A younger man could take her to Florida in a day just because she asked, but I'm not a young man anymore and I'm a cripple and I have shitty responsibilities.

She tells me to take a few days off so we can go on vacation. As much as I'd like to take her away, get away from the hospital and all the responsibility of everyday life, I won't. Henri likes spontaneity, leaving at the drop of a hat to nowhere in particular. I like having a plan, knowing where I'm going and what my next step is. I like to surprise others while still having the upper hand and knowing exactly what's happening next.

I roll over, throwing her off me and she giggles. I rise up on my elbows and look down at her lovely face. I tell her we'll go on vacation soon, but today isn't the day. She's disappointed, but I have to be the mature, responsible one for once. We'll go on a ride, I say, and she gets up to shower.

I follow her in and I can't get enough of her body. It's young and smooth, no wrinkles and no sagging and no visible scars. I'm old and broken down, weathered and graying, covered in unsightly scars. I look at the contrast between the two of us and I don't know how she can be attracted to me. She says she looks past it all, says it isn't who I am and besides, she thinks I'm incredibly sexy. She tells me she loves me and is always wanting and craving me and can never get enough. I can't see how, but I love her for it.

As she's drying her hair, I sit in the living room playing the guitar. She comes out in the jeans that make her ass look great and the Stones t-shirt I got her that hugs her breasts just the right way. She kisses me and for a while, we just make out with the guitar between us. She makes me feel so young and desired when she does this. She breaks the kiss to my disappointment and smiles and tells me she wants to get on the bike. We throw on our sweaters and leather jackets and go.

We're racing up and down the streets and she's clinging onto me for dear life and we're going too fast but this is the way I like it. I'm getting such a rush and her trust in me at these speeds is incredible. We head outside of town, through scenic routes and along country roads. When we come to straight, flat parts of the road, I increase our speed and make her grab onto me tighter. The sound of the wind whipping past us is deafening and I just take in the way the world looks on the verge of spring.

There's no one on earth I'd rather be with, doing this and feeling this. When we're together, it's like nothing else matters and it's just the two of us and it could be that way forever. Being on the motorcycle with her gives me such a feeling of freedom and invincibility and makes me feel such love for her. She makes me feel young and desired and there are no restrictions to what we can do together.


	32. Chapter 32

We're having a quickie on the couch before Wilson and Cuddy come pick us up to go out to dinner. I'm on top and getting close to what I can tell is going to be an amazing orgasm. I shout out that I'm coming as it hits me and I'm paralyzed by ecstasy rippling through my body. The front door whips open and Wilson and Cuddy are standing there, their jaws dropped open. I cover my breasts with my hands and smile. House waves and tells them we'll be out in a minute. They close the door and we erupt in laughter.

We clean up and dress and jump into Wilson's Volvo, waiting outside. There's silence for a moment before Wilson apologizes; he thought I shouted 'come in.' House comments that he's glad that now they know how nice my breasts are and Wilson can stop bragging about Cuddy's. We head somewhere casual where we can get great bar food.

We decide to forgo the booth; Cuddy's six months pregnant and can barely fit between the bench and the table comfortably. She looks amazing and has a glow about her. She and I demolish some spinach and artichoke dip and some mozzarella sticks and House and Wilson barely get a bite of either. Wilson asks me if I'm pregnant, too and I feel both House and I freeze.

I tell him I'd better not be, or I have an appointment with falling down a staircase. I'm hungry, and that's that. House looks like he's in a bad mood now and I assure him I'm just being a fat ass today. Me, pregnant? That's the last thing we'd need. House gives Wilson a death stare and tells him not to even say it; it'd be like jinxing us. We're having fun, loving our life together, going wherever it is we want to go and a baby would ruin everything.

We're drinking and talking and having fun and Cuddy has me feel her belly when the baby kicks. It feels strange and I'm not sure I like it. It makes me think of the movie _Alien_, a strange creature growing inside waiting to burst out and eat your soul. I'm almost twenty four, I've still got so much to do in my life and having a baby isn't on the top of my list.

House makes a comment about Cuddy's breasts and I can't help but laugh. Cuddy is appalled, but Wilson is trying to hold in his laughter. I have to admit, they're massive. Cuddy's always had a penchant for low-cut shirts and her hormones during pregnancy have made them just pop right out. That's the one aspect of pregnancy I wouldn't mind; I'm only a B-cup and would love to go a little bit bigger, but House wouldn't want me to get fake boobs.

I love having dinner with Cuddy and Wilson; they've known House for so much longer than I have and therefore they know him inside and out and they have all the embarrassing details. The dynamic of the group is great, too. Cuddy and I can talk about the more feminine things and Wilson and House have their own little way of communicating. Cuddy and House are fun to watch; they bounce off each other like ping pong balls and Wilson and I genuinely like each other and can get into long, deep conversations.

The wine starts to get to my head and I tell the group, gesturing to my wine glass, that this is the reason I couldn't procreate. There are too many mind-altering, body-wrecking substances out there that I enjoy too much to give up for nine plus months. House kisses me and tells me that this is the best thing I've ever said.

Cuddy tells us we were made for each other, with our hatred for most people and holidays and our love for self-destructive behavior. I laugh and I know she's right. She might like us, might think of us as friends, but she doesn't approve of the way we live our lives. House and I are either drunk or high most of the day. I'm having fun in my life and it's not interfering with my functions. I don't think I'll change in a long, long time.

xXxXx

Henri is on top of me, the couch is beneath me, and I am the happiest man on earth. She and I are having a quickie before Cuddy and Wilson come to pick us up for dinner. I'm getting close to what I can tell is going to be an amazing orgasm and from the feeling of Henri, she's on the brink, too. She shouts out that she's coming and we're both hit with complete ecstasy. I hear the front door open and Henri's head whips around and she covers her beautiful breasts and smiles. I raise my hand and wave, knowing it must be Wilson and Cuddy arriving prematurely. I tell them we'll be out in a minute and when the door shuts, Henri and I can't stop laughing.

We clean up and dress and although I want to forget this whole thing and stay naked with Henri, we get into Wilson's family-friendly Volvo. There's awkward silence for a moment before Wilson apologizes; he thought Henri shouted 'come in' and I think this is fantastic. I tell him I'm glad that now everyone knows how nice my wife's breasts are and Wilson can stop bragging about Cuddy's. I love making things uncomfortable. We head for somewhere casual where we can get some great bar food.

We have to sit at a regular table because Cuddy can't fit into a booth comfortably. She's getting bigger by the day, the baby occupying her uterus growing and readying itself for the world. Henri and Cuddy destroy the appetizers with Wilson and I barely able to get a bite. Henri loves to eat, but usually eats like a bird. There are some days, however, when she packs away double her body weight. Wilson asks her if she's pregnant and I freeze. That is not funny.

Henri says she'd better not be, or she'd throw herself down the stairs. I don't like this kind of talk and Henri sees my brooding and lets me know she's not pregnant, she's just in one of her fat moods. Thank god. That's the last thing we'd need. I give Wilson a death stare, wishing I had laser vision so I could explode his head and I tell him to not even say it for fear of jinxing us. We're having fun, loving our life together, doing whatever it is we want to do and a bundle of screaming, pooping joy would ruin everything.

We're drinking and talking and having fun and Cuddy has Henri feel her belly when the baby kicks. I'm horrified, hoping that feeling a growing baby kick doesn't inspire Henri and change her mind on child bearing. Kids make me think of the blood and sweat and episiotomies and the fact that you're actually stuck with another needy little human being for the good part of twenty years. I've still got a lot of life to live and a baby isn't on my list of things to do.

My attention is caught by Cuddy's massive breasts. She's always worn low-cut shirts and with her hormones running wild during her pregnancy, they've nearly doubled in size and they pop right out. I tell her they look like big, juicy cantaloupes that I could just squeeze. She's not amused but everyone else is. Henri has nice, small breasts. They aren't so small that there's nothing there, but they're a little more than a handful and I love them. She asked me about augmentation once and I told her I'd disown her if she ever thought about it. They might not be huge, but they're perfect and beautiful and I love them.

Henri loves having dinner with Cuddy and Wilson because of the group dynamic. I'm not sure what she sees in it. I do it because Wilson and Cuddy are the two people I've known the longest and am still friends with and because they like Henri. We all seem to get along, and though Cuddy and I are constantly down each other's throats, it's fun in its own dysfunctional way.

The wine starts to get to Henri's head, as it usually does, and I see the blush across her cheeks. She points to her wine glass and tells everyone that it is the reason she couldn't procreate. She says there are too many mind-altering, body-wrecking substances out there that she enjoys too much to give up for nine plus months. I kiss her and tell her that's the best thing she's ever said. If she's happy drinking and doing drugs, I am, too.

Cuddy tells us we were made for each other, with our hatred for most people and holidays and our love for self-destructive behavior. Henri laughs and we both know she's right. She might like us, might think of us as friends, but she doesn't approve of the way we live our lives. Henri and I are either drunk or high 85% of the day. I'm having fun in my life and it's not interfering with my functions. I don't think I'll change in a long, long time.

xXxXx

A/N: Okay, my lovelies... if you're American, you're 18 or over and you're registered, get out there and VOTE! VOTE VOTE VOTE!!!


	33. Chapter 33

My sister in-law has a baby boy, Justin, on April 10. I go up for the day to see him and he's… a baby. Nothing really amazing there. I don't get the big deal about babies. When he's a little older and can walk around and talk, I'll take more of an interest. Alexis was boring as a baby, but she's pretty cool to hang out with now that she can carry on a conversation.

I didn't arrive until after they'd gotten home with the baby. I'm not interested in sitting in a waiting room, waiting for hours for not much of anything. I don't need to see the kid fresh out of the oven, still covered in nastiness. The entire process is quite unsavory.

When Cuddy goes into labor in early July, it's a ridiculously hot day and she and I are sitting in my living room, eating Chinese food and watching Lifetime movies. Wilson and House are out at a wrestling match. She drops some of her lo mein on the couch and stands to go grab a napkin. She's huge and she exerts a lot of effort to stand and I try to tell her to sit and let me get it, but she's already up. She's walking back with a paper towel when she stops and looks up, her eyes wide.

She tells me she thinks she's going into labor and goes into the bathroom to check. She's lost her mucus plug and her water's broken. I'm freaked out, but she's surprisingly calm. She tells me not to worry, we'll be okay. I see in her eyes that she's surprised and excited. I'm scared shitless. I don't know why everyone around me is so calm about birth; perhaps it's because they're doctors and they've seen this done many times.

I drive Cuddy to PPTH and she has a few contractions on the way there. It's mind boggling that she's so relaxed. I call Wilson and he can barely hear me over the shouting at the arena. When he finally understands what I'm telling him, he's stuttering and tells me he'll meet us at the hospital.

Cuddy is in labor for hours with no progress and she has to have a c-section. They name him Aaron. When I hold him, it freaks me out. I've never been good at holding babies this young, babies that can't hold their heads up on their own. House doesn't want to hold the baby, but when he's finally coaxed into it, he knows exactly how to do it. Seeing him there, holding Aaron is quite the sight. He looks perfect except for the look of distaste on his face.

We get home and I can tell he's got something on his mind. He asks me if I want kids. I'm surprised; I never thought we'd actually have this conversation. I never thought we'd have to. His face is serious and I feel like he's looking for a very specific answer. I know he's looking for a no, but I tell the truth. I tell him I don't really think about it; I just turned twenty four and I'm not in any rush to consider the issue.

I won't lie; maybe I'll want one eventually, but a long time down the road. He doesn't seem to like this idea, but he drops the subject. There's a knock at the door and I get up to answer it. I don't like the energy in the room after I told him I might want a kid someday.

I open the door and Tritter is standing there. My stomach drops and he tells me his life is ruined. He can't get a job anywhere after what happened and it's my fault. He raises the gun and I feel like I'm in a movie and it's all going slow-motion. I barely have time to move before he squeezes the trigger and I feel white-hot pain as the bullet goes through my left shoulder. I feel like the air is being sucked from my lungs as I fall back and hit the ground.

I'm sitting on the ground, my back against the wall and blood flowing down my shirt. House's eyes are wide in fright. He calls 911 and all I can do is sit there, feeling drowsy and sluggish and staring down at the blood on my shirt. House kneels down and cradles me to his chest and I know he's scared. I can't feel anything other than the throbbing pain in my shoulder and the warmth of his body. He makes me feel okay, even though I'm obviously not.

When the paramedics arrive, they load me into the ambulance and House clasps my hand, our fingers sticky with my blood. He tells me he loves me and he has a pained expression on his face. I tell him I love him, too, but the world goes dark and I pass out.

xXxXx

Henri's sister in-law has a baby boy and I'm thankful she doesn't make me come up with her to see him. I'm not quite sure what's so great about babies. They eat, poop, cry and sleep and that's about it. You can't have a conversation with a baby, so there's no interest in it for me. I also don't understand the entire waiting ritual; the entire family wasting hours sitting in a waiting room just to be there when the baby is born and their consolation prize is getting to hold it.

Of course the day Wilson and I have great seats to a wrestling match and things are getting really good when Cuddy goes into labor. Leave it to Lisa Cuddy to completely ruin any fun. Wilson is panicked when Henri calls and I try to convince him that we should stay until the end of the match; after all, I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure labor takes a while. I tell him we won't miss anything and he gets pissed and says he'll leave me if I don't come now.

I drive us because Wilson is practically jumping out of his pants. He'll be a father of two in a matter of hours and I wouldn't trade our positions for the world. Henri and I decide to wait it out at home; there's no point in sticking around for hours of nothing. I'd rather not be around when children start dropping out of Cuddy's vagina, anyway.

Cuddy ends up needing a c-section and they have a boy, Aaron. Henri drags me over to see them the moment we get the phone call that he's entered the world. She holds him and she looks terrified. It's difficult to hold a newborn infant, a little person who can't hold its head up on its own. Wilson's in his own little world, taking the baby from Henri and holding it so delicately, looking down into its little squishy face with such love. I'm not sure I'll ever look that way.

I don't want to hold one, but after Henri and Wilson persuade me, I take him. I'm not uncomfortable holding babies because they're fragile, I've held babies thousands of times. I don't like holding babies because they're babies and I scowl down at him.

We get home and I'm in a bad mood. The entire baby thing has been heavy on my mind lately. I ask her if she wants kids and I can tell she's surprised that I'd ask. I tend to avoid the subject if I can and I don't think either of us ever thought we'd actually have this conversation. I'm looking for a no, hoping she'll say no so I know our lives are secure and we can maintain consistent normality.

She just turned twenty four and she isn't in any rush to think about the issue. She tells me she may want one eventually, but a long time down the road. I don't like this idea; it makes me feel like it's all a ticking time bomb waiting to blindside me one day. I drop the subject, not wanting to think about it anymore.

There's a knock at the door and I'm glad for the distraction. Henri answers and for a few seconds I hear murmuring, a man's voice, and I figure it's someone trying to save our souls. I hear the crack of the gun and I know it's not a Jehovah's Witness. I spring to my feet as Henri falls to the floor, clutching her shoulder, and leans against the wall. She looks surprised and her face is pale.

My heart falls as I see the blood pouring from the bullet wound. I know that feeling, I know what it's like to get shot and be lying there, in shock and not quite feeling anything other than the pain. I call 911 and go to her and cradle her small body to my chest. I'm so scared, I never thought I could be this scared. There's blood pouring everywhere and I think the bullet must have hit the subclavian artery. If she doesn't get to the hospital soon, she'll bleed out or die of shock. I'm trying to stay calm for her, but I'm shaking and I hope she can't feel it.

When the paramedics arrive, they load her into the ambulance and I grab her hand, holding it tightly and our fingers are sticky with her blood. The thought makes me sick. We're covered in blood and the reality of the situation is terrifying. I tell her I love her and she tells me she loves me, too, but her voice is weak and she passes out. Whoever did this is going to pay dearly. I love her more than anything or anyone I've ever known and if she's taken away from me, I won't be able to survive.

xXxXx

A/N: I know I jump around time a lot and I know I've said it before, but it's to give the story legs so I don't get bored with it and so it doesn't drag on. If it throws you off, too bad. :-P


	34. Chapter 34

I wake up to beeping. I open my eyes and the beeping is from hospital machines. I'm in a hospital bed and sitting in the chair near the bed is House. He looks tired and when I say hey, he looks up. He stands and comes closer to me and I see blood all over his clothes. I don't remember anything after visiting Cuddy and the new baby.

I ask him what happened and he caresses my face with one hand and tells me I was shot. I feel the tenderness in my shoulder and the pull of the stitches. He kisses my forehead and tells me he was scared, the bullet went in one side and out the other and hit an artery and he thought I'd bleed out before we got me into surgery. He's called my father and the family is on their way; I don't really think it's worth coming down just to see me lying in a hospital bed, but that's what family is for. I've been in the hospital three times in about a year and my family didn't come down the other two times.

I'm thirsty and he brings me a cup and I have to use my right arm and let my left arm rest. He asks me if I remember who shot me and I can't; the details are fuzzy. I think I knew who it was, I knew this person. The police want to talk to me about it, but I have nothing to tell them right now.

My family arrives and I wish they hadn't come. I'm not one to be fussed over and I don't like how scared my father looks. House goes home to change and shower and when he comes back, he's brought my favorite strawberry smoothie from the place down the street. He's sweet and caring because I think he really believed he'd lose me.

I get to go home after a week and I have to keep my arm in a sling for a while. The first night back at home, House and I cling to each other. The fact that we almost lost what we had had us both scared. My shoulder hurts like hell and House and I are both popping Vicodin like it's candy.

I dream that I'm in the hospital again and there's a knock on the door. I go to answer it and a man with a gun is standing there, but his face is covered by a hood. I pull the hood from his face and there, staring at me with menacing eyes, is Tritter. He pulls the trigger and I wake up screaming, my body covered in sweat.

House gets up, freaked out, and wants to know what happened. I know who shot me, I tell him, it was Tritter. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and is silent for a moment. He says he knew it, he had a feeling. He knew it wouldn't be over so easily and I see what he's saying; it may have been his own fault, but I ruined that man's career and his life and for him to just walk away from it without any action is unthinkable.

I get up to take a shower to cool down. After a few minutes, he joins me, even though it's four in the morning. I hate the angry red spot on my shoulder and how it's going to turn into an unsightly scar. I always loved the fact that I had very few scars and my skin was always flawless. He says it's okay, if anyone knows what it is to carry scars, it's him. He carefully washes around the wound, both sides, and he's being gentle and careful and I love the way he touches me.

We get back to bed and we lie there for a long time, talking. We don't talk about anything in particular, nothing deep or serious. I feel like this is my chance to really embrace the things that I love in this world, to be able to step back and see what I have.

What do I have? A family willing to drop everything at a moment's notice to be at my bedside, a loving, difficult, handsome, stubborn man who would do anything for me, my life and my youth and my love.

xXxXx

I'm there when she wakes up. I haven't left her for a moment; I'm still in the same clothes, covered in her blood. I watched the surgery, watched as Chase repaired the damage done by the bullet. She's been out for hours and when I finally hear her voice, weak and tired, I'm relieved.

She wants to know what happened and I touch her soft skin and tell her she was shot. I kiss her forehead and tell her I was scared; I hate being scared and I don't like to admit that I was. The bullet was a through and through, but it hit the subclavical artery and the bleeding was hard to stop; I thought she'd bleed out before we got her into surgery. Her family is on the way, shocked and horrified that Henri's been shot.

She's thirsty and I bring her a cup and ask her if she remembers who shot her and she can't; the details are fuzzy. My rage at this person is boiling, waiting to show itself. Whoever did this should be in absolute, paralyzing fear. The police want to talk to her about it, but she has nothing to tell them.

Her family arrives and I think they're put off by the fact that I'm still in blood soaked clothes. Her father looks scared and I decide to give them some time to themselves and go home to change and shower. I clean up the blood on the floor and on the wall, but there will be a stain. The bullet is embedded in the wall opposite the front door and I dig it out with a knife. I'll save it for her in case she wants it; I don't know why, but I know it's something she'd want to keep.

I want to do something for her, something nice, but I'm not sure what to do. I'm passing the place with the smoothies she's always talking about, so I go in and get her the strawberry one she likes. She's happy to see me and happy about the smoothie and she's being surprisingly calm about this. She nearly lost her life; I nearly lost her and I don't know what I would have done.

She comes home after a long, long week. Our bed is so empty without her and I get no work done because I'm always with her. I bring her food, I help her in and out of bed, I walk around the hospital with her, seeing Coma Guy and playing video games in the doctor's lounge.

When she comes home, she has to keep her arm in a sling and she hates it; she hates the restriction of it and how helpless it makes her. The first night back at home, we lie in bed holding each other. The fact that we almost lost what we had had us both scared. Her shoulder is killing her and now both of us are taking Vicodin.

I'm torn from sleep by her scream. I'm afraid something's happened to her, the shooter came back or she tore open her wound. She's sitting up, covered it sweat, her t-shirt soaked through. She says she knows who shot her, it was Tritter. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and am silent for a moment. If I hadn't been such an ass in that exam room years ago, Henri would never have been the target of Tritter's need for revenge. I knew it couldn't be over so easily, wrapped up like a perfect present with a bow. His career and life are ruined and for him to just walk away from it without a fight is unthinkable. If I ever see him again, I'll kill him.

Henri gets up to shower and cool down and I think about going back to sleep, but I want to be with her and want to comfort her so I join her in the shower. She looks at the wound on her shoulder with disgust, angry that her flawless skin is now marred with the scar, one on the front, one on the back. I tell her it's okay, I know what it's like to have scars like that. It's part of her, so I don't think it's ugly. I carefully wash around the wound, both sides, because I don't want it to get infected. I love her body and I love to hold it and touch it, even if it's for something like this.

We get back to bed and we lie there for a long time, talking. I have to work in the morning, but I don't care. I'll waltz in late like I always do; these moments are much more worth it. I've never been a sentimental person, but I feel like this is our chance to really appreciate the time we have together. I love her and I want her to know it every second of every day.


	35. Chapter 35

The police can't find Tritter anywhere. It's as if he's disappeared from the face of the earth but I'm sure he's just in hiding. I'm guessing the idea of a former cop going to jail wasn't something he wanted a part of. What does he have to lose by leaving? He has nothing left, no life, no career, black balled from every police force in the state of New Jersey. Being driven by revenge ruins people.

It takes me almost six weeks to recover from the wound in my shoulder. I've been on antibiotics and pain medication and I'm glad to be off them. My shoulder is still sore now and then, but I've regained full mobility. Things are back to normal, although sometimes I'm afraid of answering the door when someone knocks and I'm wondering if I should be afraid that Tritter will come back to finish what he started.

Today, House is working on a new case and I've made some sandwiches and potato salad to bring to him. I've made extra for the team and for Cuddy and Wilson, who are back to work for the first time since Aaron was born. When Kutner sees me walking toward the office, big paper bag in my arms, his eyes light up. He's always happy when I bring food and he gets up and opens the door for me.

I distribute the sandwiches and leave a tub of potato salad on the table and House and I retire to his office to eat by ourselves. I'm wearing a red shirt and a short black skirt and when we're done eating House wants to investigate and see what's under the skirt. When I close the blinds and tell him there's nothing under there, he smiles, knowing where this is going.

I straddle him and we do it in his chair and the fact that his team is in the next room and could walk in or hear us is thrilling; I love having sex in his office. His beeper goes off just as he's coming and he has to rush off to check the patient.

I go and hang out in Cuddy's office for a while and she can tell what I've been doing; she tells me I have that "glow." She has pictures of Aaron everywhere, even though he's only six weeks old. I think Cuddy has a serious problem with taking too many pictures. I'm preventing her from getting any work done and she rolls her eyes and tells me I'm just like House.

I'm bored and I spend the rest of the day wandering around town, running errands and doing pointless things to keep me busy. I really need to get a job; this is ridiculous. I can't seem to find anything halfway decent that I'd actually enjoy. House doesn't think it's a problem that I don't work; he likes that I can drop everything at a moment's notice to bring him food or do the laundry or have sex in his office. There's only so much I can cook, however, and we can't have sex all day, as much as we'd like to.

When he comes home, I'm waiting for him, naked. He chuckles and he tells me that this is an unexpected surprise; his low, gravelly voice turns me on and I attack him. He has me on the floor without even getting completely naked, our urgency stripping us of the need to be proper.

We get into bed and he traces his finger over my scar, a bright pink, puckered splotch on my body. I still can't believe that a bullet ripped through my skin and I'm still alive. I never thought I'd ever be in danger of getting shot, let alone actually getting shot. He kisses the spot and continues kissing lower and lower. I run my fingers through his hair and he clutches my hips in both hands as he goes down on me.

As a reward and because his leg hurts, I give him a full body massage. He mumbles into the pillow that I'm amazing as I knead his thigh. I like to spoil him like this because he loves me for it and I like knowing that I do what I do well. He falls asleep in the middle of the massage and I laugh and cuddle up to him and drift off into a deep, wonderful sleep.

xXxXx

Tritter has gone missing. We called the police and told them who it was that had shot Henri, but their manhunt has so far turned up nothing. The incompetence of people irritates me. The man who tried to ruin me, who nearly killed Henri twice is out there somewhere and the idea that he could come back is scary. I'd love to get my hands on that asshole and tear him apart.

When Henri finally recovers from her wound, she's ecstatic. She's been pumped full of antibiotics and pain meds and she's glad to be done with taking pills every few hours; I love taking pills every few hours. She's regained full mobility and she's back to running around everywhere, cooking up a storm and running errands. Things are back to normal and I'm glad for it; I enjoy my normality.

I've got a new case and Henri has promised to come in and bring me some lunch. I see her walking down the hallway with a big paper bag in her arms. Kutner rushes up to open the door for her; I can't tell if he just loves it when she brings food, or if he has a crush on her. Either way, he's like a little puppy whenever she comes with a casserole or pasta or sandwiches for everyone.

We go into my office to eat in peace, by ourselves. She's made me a Rueben, made herself turkey and Swiss on wheat. She's made some damn good potato salad and I eat almost the entire container. She's looking sexy today, in a tight red t-shirt and a short black skirt. I don't think there are any panties under there and I want to investigate the situation. She gives me that coy smile that tells me that I'm right about the panties and my day is about to get better. She closes the blinds and walks toward me slowly.

She straddles me, hiking up the skirt and we do it here in the chair. The fact that my team is in the next room and could walk in or hear us at any moment is thrilling to her and I think she's moaning a little louder than usual. I love having sex in my office, I'm getting paid to be here, getting off. My beeper goes off just as I'm coming and that is the one downside of fucking in my office. I have to rush off to check my patient and I wish I didn't have to; I'd love to stay and continue what we started.

After my patient is stabilized, I go and hang out in Wilson's office for a while. I tell him I just got laid and he laughs and takes a bite out of a sandwich. He tells me Henri paid him a quick visit to drop off the sandwich and some of that potato salad. He's eaten half of the potato salad already, but I grab the container and start to eat. He looks upset but doesn't say anything.

He's got a picture of his baby sitting on the desk and I study it for a moment. It's a baby. Not cuter or uglier than any other baby. They all look the same. I ask him what it's like being around Cuddy all the time and he says it's nice, he likes it, he's happy. I can't imagine living with her, especially with her and a baby. Wilson says the baby's good, hardly ever cries and I don't really care.

I get back to work and I wonder what Henri's up to. She's unemployed, still, and it's driving her insane. She can't seem to find anything worth doing. I don't care that she doesn't work. In fact, I like it. She can drop everything at a moment's notice to bring me food or pick up the dry cleaning or have sex in my office. I know there's only so much of that she can do before there's nothing else to do, but I like that she's at my beck and call.

When I get home, she's waiting for me, naked. I laugh and tell her that this is an unexpected surprise; unexpected, but fantastic. She attacks me, pulling me to the floor and frantically undoing the button of my pants. I don't even get completely naked, our urgency ridding us of the need to do things properly. Not only do I get laid at work, but I get it again the second I get home. I'm a lucky man.

We get into bed and I trace my finger over her scar, a bright pink, puckered splotch on an otherwise perfect body. I still can't believe I had to hold her in my arms as she bled, shot out of rage and revenge and wrath. I kiss the spot and continue kissing lower and lower, dirty thoughts in my head. She runs her fingers through my hair and I clutch her slim hips in both hands as I go down on her.

As a reward and because my leg hurts, she gives me a full body massage. I feel complete pleasure as she works on the knots and muscles and I mumble into the pillow that she's amazing. She works my thigh, alleviating me of a great deal of pain. She spoils me and I love it. The warmth of her body, the effects of the orgasm and the incredible massage lulls me into a deep, wonderful sleep.

xXxXx

A/N: I just want to take the time to dedicate this chapter to luv0817, who has been my constant supporter and reviewer in this story. I never thought I'd go this long, and it's looking like it might even go to 60 chapters. Thank you all for your support and your love!


	36. Chapter 36

When my period doesn't come and I can't stop throwing up and all I want to eat is fluffer nutter sandwiches, it's Cuddy I go to. It's mid-November and it's freezing and I'm fatigued and nauseous and my breasts hurt and when she gives me the news I already knew, I burst into tears out of complete exhaustion. I'm not sure what to do, not sure what to say.

I'm two months along, due in June. I don't know what House is going to say when I tell him. I'm only twenty four and have a whole lot of living left to do. I'm not ready for a baby and I'm not sure he is either. Will he make me terminate? Will he be okay with it?

Cuddy tells me she's happy for me, but I can see in her eyes she isn't so convinced. She's known House a very long time and she knows as well as I do that he's never expressed a desire to be a father. If anything, he's said he wants nothing less. She tells me he'll be okay with it, he loves me to death; he married me, didn't he?

I'm not quite sure how this happened again. I've been on the pill both times and somehow I've gotten pregnant a second time. I start to think maybe House has super sperm, but then I think about when I would've gotten pregnant. Sometime in September, after I got shot. I'd been on antibiotics for a long time by then and I hadn't been thinking about it; antibiotics ruin the effects of the pill. I walk out of the hospital in a daze. This is not good.

I go to the mall and I pass all the baby stores. I see tiny shirts and tiny shoes intended for tiny people. I see cribs, car seats, strollers and maternity clothes. I see mothers with their babies, with chubby cheeks and big eyes. It's the epitome of responsibility and I'm twenty four and I still want to go to bars and smoke weed and be able to go anywhere I like without a moment's hesitation. With a baby comes the need to think of someone other than yourself.

I'm nauseous and I have heartburn and I'm exhausted. The food court makes my stomach roll and I decide to go home and make myself a fluffer nutter. My need for peanut butter and marshmallow fluff increases every day.

I get home, ready to take a nap before starting dinner. Instead, I find House sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He eyes me suspiciously and wants to know why I was at PPTH today and didn't come to see him. He tells me Wilson saw me coming out of one of the exam rooms with Cuddy and he asks if we're having an affair.

I'm not in any mood for this but I know he isn't going to leave it alone until he has an answer. I wanted some time to think about how I'd tell him, but it seems like he's not giving me much of a choice. Instead, I pull something out of my ass.

I tell him I just wanted to talk to Cuddy, see how she was doing with the new baby and in the process she diagnosed my flu. I'm not sure if he buys it, but it gives me some more time to tell him in a way where he would be able to handle it.

He tells me he needs to get back to work, but he wanted to make sure everything was okay and to see if I'd make him some lunch. I smile and kiss his forehead and tell him, of course. In all honesty, I don't want to make him anything. I know the moment I smell something I'm going to want to vomit. As quickly as possible, I pack him some leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes and when he leaves, I throw up. It was a close call, but House is an incredibly smart man. He'll figure it out soon and I have to get the strength and will to tell him.

I lie down in our bed, unmade from this morning. I hate change and so does House; he's not going to be excited about having to share his life with a baby. He wants things to stay the same forever and I do, too. I want to jump on the motorcycle at a moment's notice and head somewhere without worrying about what we might have left behind.

I wake up hours later to the sound of the door swinging open and slamming against the wall. I'm startled and I sit up and find House standing in the doorway, a blue folder in his hand. He throws it at me and wants to know what the hell is going on.

I pick up the envelope and open it and inside is my medical file. The results of my pregnancy test as well as a copy of the ultra sound stare up at me and I should've known he'd go through my files. I look up at his angry face and I tell him I'm pregnant.

It's obvious, he says. He wants to know when I was going to tell him. He says I should have told him immediately and I don't know what to say. He goes on to say he doesn't want children and he was glad I had the miscarriage. This hits me like a ton of bricks and I get out of bed, my stomach churning. I get to the bathroom just in time to throw up and he asks me how it feels, not to ask but to be an asshole.

I grab a bag and start packing up clothes, my toothbrush, my deodorant, everything I can fit and he tells me yes, I should go. He's tired of me hiding things from him, lying like everyone else. I grab my keys and head out the door and speed away from him and his temper.

I don't know what I'll do now.

xXxXx

For a few days, I notice Henri is exhausted and although she tried to hide it, I can hear her throwing up now and then. She probably has the flu and I hope she doesn't give it to me. I hate being sick and the last thing I need is to throw up on a patient or one of my team members. I try to avoid kissing her, but she gets pissed so I kiss her anyway, knowing I'm about to get the flu any moment.

I'm sitting in my office with a yoyo, listening to some acoustic music. Wilson comes in with a bag of chips and sits down opposite of me. He offers me a chip and asks if Henri is okay. Puzzled, I tell him of course she's okay. He says he saw her walking out of an exam room in the clinic with Cuddy and I'm curious. I'm wondering if she's getting her exhaustion and nausea checked out. She felt hot this morning and I'll bet it's the flu.

I go home to see her, to see if she's okay and to get a bite to eat. She isn't at the apartment when I initially get home, but I hear her car door slam and sit on the couch to wait for her. She looks pale and tired and I ask her why she would be at PPTH and not come to see me. She tells me she went to see Cuddy and to get her flu diagnosed and there's something about how she's trying to brush me off that I find odd. She fixes a lunch for me and I head back to work, still curious.

When I'm eating my lunch and talking to Wilson, I can't get Henri's behavior out of my head. This flu thing piques my interest and I decide to head down into the clinic to see if I can get a hold of Henri's file to see if she did, in fact, get checked out. I stand and start out, much to Wilson's protesting. He reminds me of how I lost Stacy partly due to snooping and how this invasion of privacy could ruin my marriage. I tell him to screw off or come with and, as a curious man himself, he follows.

After sweet-talking a nurse into going to find a file for me that I have no interest in, I sift through the files on the desk and finally find one for Henrietta House. We head to the vending machine and grab some chips before going in with Coma Guy and sitting down to take a look. Broken arm at age six, antidepressants and therapy at thirteen until age twenty, stitches to her head after falling off a pickup truck at fourteen, first gyno appointment at age sixteen, on the pill since then, miscarriage at twenty two, gunshot wound at twenty four.

Positive pregnancy test at age twenty four. I stop eating and rifle through the papers, coming up with an ultrasound taken today. From the looks of things, she's nine weeks along. I drop the file and it scatters everywhere. Now I understand. Nausea, vomiting, exhaustion, breast tenderness, wanting to eat nothing but peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. She was on antibiotics for the gunshot wound, compromising the effect of her birth control pills. I don't know why I never thought of that; I should've been more careful. I curse and Wilson seems to be trying to find some way for me to look on the bright side of this.

I don't want this. This can't be happening. Not to me, not now. We've never talked about kids in depth because I've never wanted to talk about kids. I'd be a terrible father and so I've never wanted to try to be one. Mine was an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'd be an asshole.

Furious that she didn't tell me when she got home, I race back to the apartment. The lights are out and when I rip open the door, the house is quiet. I barge into the bedroom and find her in bed, startled. I throw the file at her and ask her what the hell is going on. She picks up the file and as she realizes what it is, her face darkens. She's pissed.

She looks up at me and tells me she's pregnant. I tell her it's obvious and I want to know when she was going to tell me. She doesn't say anything and I go on to tell her I don't want children and I was glad she had a miscarriage. She looks as if I've slapped her and she rushes out of bed to vomit. I ask her how it feels, just to be an asshole.

She doesn't say a word to me as she goes around the room, packing a bag. I tell her yes, she should go. I tell her I'm tired of her hiding things from me, lying like everyone else. I don't want her to go, not really, but my anger and my pride prevail. She grabs her keys and I hear her race away and the house is silent and empty.

I'm alone again and I know I'll be alone for the rest of my life. You don't tell your pregnant wife you're glad she had a miscarriage and you don't want the one she's pregnant with. I'm a cad and a liar and an asshole and I'll be without her.

I don't know what I'll do now.


	37. Chapter 37

I end up at Cuddy's because I don't know where else to go. My college friends are all back in their hometowns, my family is in Connecticut and Pennsylvania and that's all I have. Cuddy and Wilson are the two people who've known House the longest, who will know what to say. I think she's been waiting for me because she answers the door with a cup of tea for me. Wilson is there, sitting on the couch. He looks guilty and he's holding Aaron against his chest. Babies are everywhere, torturing me with their presence.

He tells me what happened and apologizes for not stopping him. I laugh and tell him I know he could never have stopped him. I sit and Cuddy asks me if I'm okay and I try to say yes, but I come out with a no. My husband doesn't want a baby with me or with anyone else. He told me he was glad I had a miscarriage.

Wilson asks me what I expected and I honestly don't know. I knew he didn't want a baby. Hell, I'm not even sure I want a baby, especially when my marriage is in jeopardy. He tells me I need to give House some time to come around and even I know he's lying. Greg House doesn't come around; he sticks to his guns and fuck anyone else.

I have tears trickling from my eyes but I don't notice them. I'm not sobbing, not shaking. I laugh and say I should pawn the ring to pay for an abortion and file for divorce. Cuddy tells me I'm being brash, I need some time to think and I'm not so sure. She tells me to stay here as long as I like, take some time to think and then make my decision.

I don't know how I could have a baby without House. The thought alone scares the hell out of me. Cuddy puts me to bed in the guest room and tells me to think about it in the morning, when I'm not so upset.

When I wake up in the morning, I hear moving around in the kitchen. I walk to the door of the kitchen and I see Wilson kiss Cuddy on the forehead before washing some dishes. I see the way she holds Aaron and looks down at him lovingly and I feel… jealousy. They're happy about being together, happy about having a baby, happy in general. I want that. And I know I want to keep the baby.

Cuddy sees me and smiles and holds up her plate, full of scrambled eggs and toast and asks me if I want any. The sight of the clumpy yellow eggs makes my stomach turn and I rush to the bathroom. I won't miss this when it's over.

Wilson offers me toast and I only want it if there's going to be peanut butter on it. He tells me he'll talk to House at work and if he has to, he'll grab some of my things from his apartment. I thank him and ask Cuddy if she's sure it's okay for me to hang out at her house all day. She'd rather have me here than anywhere else. I know she wants to get to House; if she has me, he can't get to me and if he knows she has me, it'll drive him insane.

I also know she cares. She's seen House at his best and at his worst and she can lend me a shoulder to cry on. I know Wilson cares, too, because I've been the only one since Stacy that House has opened up to and loved and he knows he loves me more than he ever loved Stacy. He wants House to finally be happy like we were and like we're supposed to be. If House can be successful in love, anyone can, including a three time divorced guy like him.

I've always stood up for House, always done exactly what he wanted me to do. I've babied him and cared for him and eased his pain. I've cooked for him and cleaned for him and delivered meals to him in the hospital at all hours. I've done everything he asked in bed and more. I've never asked anything of him; he was the one who asked me to move in, he was the one who asked me to marry him.

This time, I'm doing something with or without him. I'm keeping the baby whether he wants me to or not.

xXxXx

Wilson won't leave me alone when I get to work. He calls me an idiot who's about to lose the only good thing in my life, completely ruining a marriage that's barely a year old. I'm not in the mood for his nagging or his crap. I ask him where she is and he doesn't answer and that means she's at Cuddy's.

I tell him that harboring a fugitive is punishable by law and he shoots back that if I hadn't thrown my pregnant wife out of the house, he wouldn't have to harbor her. I tell him if she hadn't omitted the fact that she was pregnant or, better yet, if she hadn't gotten pregnant in the first place, we wouldn't be in this position. He snaps at me that it takes two people to make a baby and he wonders who wouldn't want a tiny person with her eyes and my sunny disposition.

I tell him I don't want to be a father, I won't be a good father and if she wants to be with me, she'd be better off falling down some stairs. Wilson calls me a liar and a bastard and tells me I want to have a baby with her, but I'm just scared. I tell him to back off and I hobble away as far as I can as fast as I can.

The next person to assault me is Cuddy. She comes into my office as I'm brooding, staring at the wall and listening to the Stones. She goes on about all the messes of mine she's had to clean up, the angry patients she's had to console, the lawsuits she's had to talk people out of. She tells me that Henri loves me and I love her and I'm a fool if I don't see that. In fact, she goes on, if I don't see it, I don't deserve her. She can't believe someone would throw their pregnant wife out of the house, even me.

I tell her it's none of her business, even if she's staying with her. Cuddy gives me one more jab before she goes: Henri isn't terminating and Wilson will be at my apartment to collect some of her things later on. That angers me, but I hide it. I tell her to get the hell out unless she has doctor business for me. When I'm alone again, I start bouncing my ball against the wall.

It's not that I don't want a baby with Henri. I'll admit that to myself. I'm an angry, addicted cripple. What can I offer a child? I wasn't good at being one and my father wasn't a good example; combine the two and I'm not going to be a good father. Who needs a narcissistic, pill addicted, volatile father in their life? I can't kick the habit, I've tried too many times and it's not going to happen.

It would be better for all parties involved if either Henri terminated or I wasn't involved. I love her and I don't want to lose her, but I don't want to be my father; I won't be my father.

When I get home, I see most of her things are gone. I find one of her t-shirts on the floor and inhale her smell and I know I'm being a stubborn prick. I don't care; throughout my life, I've never done the right thing but for once I'm going to do the noble thing. I'm not going to ruin Henri's life any more than I already have and I'm not going to ruin a child's life.

I pull out a bottle of scotch and start drinking. I end up half naked, playing the guitar on the couch. In my inebriated state, I think my reasoning skills are better and I call Henri. I don't know what time it is but when she answers, groggy, and tells me it's two in the morning, I almost feel bad.

I tell her I want things the way they used to be, when it was just us doing whatever we wanted when we wanted, fuck everyone else. I tell her I can't be a father and she's too young and not ready to be a mother and she should just terminate and things can go back to normal.

I can hear her depression in her voice, but I'm deaf to it because of my drunkenness. She tells me she loves me and she always will, but she won't terminate just because I'm scared to be a dad. The line goes dead and we don't speak for two months.


	38. Chapter 38

I'm nearly four months pregnant and I still haven't heard from House. I've had a lawyer draw up papers for a divorce, but I just let them sit on the bureau to collect dust. I'm citing fraud; he entered our marriage telling me that he wanted to be with me for the rest of our lives, that he'd always love me and after little more than a year he's gone and it was all a complete lie. I can't bring myself to have them served to House. I don't want it to end like this, but after this long, I can't see how it can ever work out.

Day by day, the baby grows and I'm barely able to fit into my pants anymore. Cuddy offers to let me borrow her maternity pants, but I'm tired of taking and taking and taking from her. I look at my stomach in disgust. Sometimes I wish I had terminated, so everything could have gone back to normal. I try to get these thoughts out of my head because I don't want to resent my child because it was the direct cause of the failure of my marriage. I don't want to hate my kid because my husband couldn't grow up and accept it's existence.

When Cuddy was pregnant, she was big and beautiful and happy and Wilson was by her side constantly. She wasn't sick, she wasn't depressed, she wasn't alone. I, on the other hand, am sick and miserable and by myself. My OB is concerned because I'm not gaining weight and I can't keep any food down. Truthfully, I'm concerned, too.

I'm trying to hide my unsightly yellowing eyes and skin and my constant headaches from everyone. My skin is itchy but it doesn't look very dry. I think I'm just being overly affected by my depression. How can I not be? My husband, the person I love the most, wants nothing to do with our baby and therefore nothing to do with me.

Wilson has stopped telling me about House and his irritability and irrationality but I know he harps on him about it every day. I don't want to think about him but I can't help it. He's on my mind all the time. I think about his gravelly voice and his piercing, inquisitive blue eyes, his intelligence, his hands on my body. I think about our long conversations that would last into the wee hours of the night. I think about our motorcycle rides, going to listen to jazz and blues in restaurants, drinking ourselves retarded. I think about our ups and our downs, the day we met, our wedding. I think of all these things and I can't stop crying. I hope no one can hear me but the looks on their faces tell me that they know.

My family is angry with what's happening. I finally had to fess up to them about my pregnancy and House's inability to cope with it. I've decided to move in with my brother Joseph and his family. I've got all my things in boxes and am just waiting for a couple of weeks so they can ready a room for me. I've been enough of a burden on Wilson and Cuddy so far.

I can't imagine what my life is going to be like. A marriage ruined, a young single mother living with her brother with no contact with her baby's father. I don't think I could ever get over House. My life from now on is going to have to be about the baby, no one else. I have to put myself aside and forget about House and ever having a healthy relationship.

I feel dizzy and have an intense headache. I haven't peed all day and I know something's wrong. Although I think I should wait for someone to get home to take me, I get in the car and drive to the hospital. I just make it into a handicapped parking space before having another dizzy spell. I put the handicapped tag on the rear view mirror, stolen from House, and shuffle into the hospital. I'm feeling disoriented but manage to tell the nurse to find Cuddy or Wilson.

I see Chase looking over a chart and he looks up, his smile fading when he sees me. He asks me what's wrong and I mumble that I'm tired. He tells me I look awful and should sit down and I laugh weakly before my legs give out and it all goes dark.

xXxXx

Wilson won't leave me alone about Henri. Every day, he gives me an update I don't want. She's in bed all day, she can't stop crying and throwing up and isn't gaining weight. She's moving in with her brother, gone in two weeks. I'll never see her again if I don't get over my stubborn ways.

The fact that she's suffering tugs at my cold, hard heart. I never wanted her to suffer, but once she's over it, she'll realize she's better off. When I say this, Wilson tells me I'm being stupid and letting the best thing I've ever had walk away, just so I can continue to be miserable. I'm punishing myself for no reason.

No matter what Wilson tells me, I have my own rationalizations for what I'm doing. In the end, I'll be saving her and damning myself. I miss her and I know I always will, but if I'm not in the picture, the child can have a decent chance at a decent life. What could I offer a kid other than being a menacing presence on the border of their life?

She's on my mind all the time. I think about her melodic singing voice and her beautiful, clear blue eyes, her intelligence, the feel of her skin and her warm body. I think about our long conversations that would last into the wee hours of the night. I think about our motorcycle rides, going to listen to jazz and blues in restaurants, drinking ourselves stupid. I think about our ups and our downs, the day we met, our wedding. I think of all these things and I can't stop drinking.

I probably dial her number twenty times a day, but I never have the courage to press the call button. She's in the right and I'm in the wrong. She's always stood up for me, always done exactly what I wanted her to do. She's babied me and cared for me and eased my pain in ways that no one ever has and no one ever will. She's cooked and cleaned for me, delivered my meals to me here at all hours. She's done everything I've ever asked her to in bed and more. She never asked anything of me; I was the one who asked her to move in, to marry me, because I didn't want her doing these things for anyone else. I wanted her close to me, doing the same thing for the rest of our lives.

But you can't ask a twenty four year old girl to stay the same forever, never want anything more. I can't ask her to terminate a pregnancy just because I don't want to be a father; it's her body, her life. I've been making this entire thing about me without a thought in the world to what she wanted. That's where I made my mistake.

I tell Wilson I'm tired of all of this crap, I just want it over so I can go back to my life, alone, how I liked it. He tells me I'm a ridiculous liar and I'll pay for it for the rest of my life. I agree. I tell him that just because he's happy that Cuddy's squeezed out a baby, doesn't mean I'm happy about Henri's pregnancy. I see Cuddy and Wilson falling in love with each other more every day. I tell him I'm sickened by it all. His pager goes off and he sighs and looks down.

When he looks up, I know there's something wrong. He tells me Henri House just collapsed and my heart drops. I can't do this again, I can't be in fear for her life again. This woman is killing me, she constantly needs to be rescued and I can't handle it. We both stand and I hobble as fast as I can after Wilson and I see Henri, passed out on a gurney, being rushed down a hallway. She's too thin and her skin has a slight yellow pallor to it.

I grab Chase and I ask him what happened. She came into the clinic, looking disoriented, and she collapsed. He goes on to tell me that I can't be here, it's a conflict of interest. I threaten to shove my cane where the sun doesn't shine if he doesn't get the hell out of my way. As Chase checks her vitals, I hook her up to the IV and see she's still wearing her rings. She's not over me, she still loves me, and this proves it.

I pry open her eyelids and I see her eyes are yellowed; she's jaundiced. I ask Wilson what's been going on and he tells me all he knows; she's still violently ill, can't keep anything down, losing weight, sleeping eighteen hours a day, having headaches. I'm thinking hyperemesis gravidarum, a severe kind of morning sickness that can cause dehydration and jaundice. Chase puts her on some intravenous fluids to restore hydration, electrolytes and vitamins and an antireflux med to stop her from throwing up. If she had waited much longer, she could have gone into liver failure and miscarried or even lost her own life.

Chase gets out the sonogram to make sure everything is okay and when he lowers the covers, I see she has the slightest curve, the beginnings of a belly. I almost leave the room but the sound of the normal, perfect heartbeat stops me. I look up at the screen and I see the profile of a sixteen week old fetus, perfectly normal, no signs of trauma or deformity. Chase looks at me and tells me it's my baby and it looks fine for being the devil's spawn and I sit down.

I tell him to leave and for a long time, I sit, looking at the still image he left on the screen. I rest my chin on my cane and look at Henri, who, despite being yellow, too thin and exhausted, is a sight for sore eyes. I've missed looking at her and just being in the room with her is a soothing thing. When I heard she'd collapsed, I'd thought the worst.

I'm not sure what I would have done if something really bad had happened; the gunshot scared me, but this is far scarier. I would have hated myself if something happened to her and the baby.


	39. Chapter 39

I wake up, groggy, but feeling better. I'm in the hospital, I can smell it on the sheets and I feel an IV in my hand. I quickly put a hand to my stomach and I still feel the slight curve and I think everything's okay. I look up and I see House sitting in a chair by my bed. I haven't seen him in so long and he looks tired and regretful, but he's a sight for sore eyes. He's resting his chin on the handle of his cane, looking at the floor. I'm so tired of being in the hospital, being helpless like this and seeing him in pain. He looks up at me and meets my eyes.

He says hi, but not much else. I sigh and look around and I see a sonogram sitting near me, the picture paused. I ask him if it's our baby and he hums; a yes. He tells me I have hyperemesis gravidarum, a severe kind of nausea and sickness that's associated with the hormone levels in pregnancy. He goes over a list of pills he'll prescribe to ease it's effects, to cure my jaundice, and tells me it'll subside with time and in the mean time I should be on bed rest for the next two weeks or so.

I thank him and for a moment there's silence. I look back at the sonogram, a blur of something that looks like an alien and I say it doesn't really look like much. In a low, tired voice, he says it's perfect and he meets my eyes and I know that as much as he wants to avoid fatherhood, he can't after seeing me and seeing the sonogram. It's a piece of us and he wants us more than anything.

I reach my hand out to him and after looking at it, weighing the options in his head, he scoots his chair closer and takes my hand and kisses the knuckles. I sigh in relief and tears spring to my eyes. I tell him I love him and he says it back. I don't quite know what this means for us, but hearing it makes me feel so much better.

He asks me what happens now and I don't know, I have no answer for him. He asks me if I want to come back and it all depends. Is he going to wish I'd terminated or miscarried? Is he going to resent me for keeping the baby, for saddling him with responsibility? He says he can try to be the man I need, but he's not very good at it. He tells me having a baby probably wasn't the best thing to happen to us.

I sit up and bring his hand to my lips and kiss his palm. I ask him how he can think that. He goes on to tell me about his father, about the ice baths and sleeping outside in the cold. He tells me about the "tough love" and the hatred that slowly grew in him. He tells me about his anger and rage that he still has about his father, about his leg, about his life.

I listen as he talks about his Vicodin addiction and how he can't stop and probably never will. He's tried and never gets anywhere and the pain in his leg will forever be there and so will the need for pain pills. He's not an easy man and he knows it; he thrives on solitude and misery and if he has a loving wife and a baby, it's like he's not himself and his entire life is turned into something he doesn't know or understand.

I let him rest his head in my lap and I run my fingers through his hair to soothe him as he continues. He doesn't think he's going to be a good father; his life has been a recipe for failure in that department. He never thought he'd marry, let alone procreate and he knows he'll be a letdown. He's not the family type. He didn't invite his own mother to our wedding. His mother has no idea he's married or even seeing someone.

I talk to him, reassure him, tell him how I feel about him and how I initially felt about having a child. I tell him I'll move back in, I'll cancel my plans to move in with my family and we'll see where it takes us.

xXxXx

The sound of the sheets rustling around as she wakes breaks me from my thoughts. I look up at her, those eyes so sad and so tired. I say hi and that's all I can say to her. What do I say to someone I've hurt so badly, wronged so selfishly. She looks up at the sonogram, a picture of the thing we made together and she asks if it's ours. I hum in response, my way of saying yes. I go into my medical persona. I give her the diagnosis, the meds she'll have to go on and the things she'll have to do.

She thanks me, just like every other patient, but she isn't every other patient. She's my wife and I was so scared for her, despite myself. We sit in silence and she looks back at the sonogram and says it doesn't really look like much. For once, I tell the truth. I say it's perfect and I look at her in the eyes. As much as I want to make this all go away, completely avoid fatherhood, I can't. Now that I've seen her, now that I've seen what we've produced, I can't turn away. We fit together; this fits.

She reaches her hand out to me and I stare at it for a while, weighing the options in my head. Do I plunge head-on into the unknown, or do I return to what I know, what I understand? I realize I have no choice and I pull my chair closer and take her hand and I kiss her knuckles. I want her; I need her; I feel right with her. She sighs and tears roll down her cheeks and with her other hand she swipes them away. She tells me she loves me and I say it back and it feels right to say it. I'm not sure what this is going to mean for us, but I'm glad to be in her presence.

I want to know what happens now and she doesn't know. I ask her if she wants to come back and she says it depends. It all depends on me, of course. Am I going to wish she'd terminated or miscarried? I regret saying that to her, I know I was being cruel. Am I going to resent her for keeping the baby, for saddling me with responsibility? I tell her I can try to be the man she needs, but I'm doubtful, I'm not very good at it. Having a baby probably wasn't the best thing to happen to us.

She sits up and kisses my palm and asks me how I can think that. I tell her my worries, my issues, my vices. I tell her about my father, my leg, my addiction. I tell her everything I've been thinking. I rest my head in her lap and she soothes me by running her fingers through my hair as I talk.

When I'm done, she talks. She tells me how stressed out she was when she found out she was pregnant. She knew I didn't want a baby and even worse, she knew she didn't want one either. She'd never thought about what she really would have done if she hadn't miscarried the first time. She doesn't think she'll be a good mother, either, because she's never had the kind of maternal instinct she sees in other women, like Cuddy, like her mother, like her sister in-law.

She's twenty four years old and has a lot of life to live. She wanted to be able to drop everything in a second and jump on the motorcycle with me and end up somewhere new and not have to worry about what she left behind. She doesn't know what she's going to do when the baby comes because even when her niece and nephew were born, she could give them back to Sherry or Joseph and walk away, back to her life without responsibilities or worries.

She doesn't blame me for wanting to run away. She would have loved to run away, but she's the one who's carrying it and she can't run away. An abortion wasn't an option because it's a part of me, a part of us and she couldn't imagine doing that to our baby. I see where she's coming from now. She wasn't happy about the news, either, but she was stuck with it and my abandonment made it worse. I'm an asshole and a bastard and I feel badly about my decision now.

I tell her she's beautiful and I've missed her and she tells me she'll move back in, cancel all her plans and see where it takes us.


	40. Chapter 40

When House takes me home, Cuddy tells him she doesn't want to see him for a week. He's kind and gentle and sweet to me, or as much as he can be. He helps me into the house as best as he can, letting me lean on him until we get to the bedroom and I can lie down. Wilson brings over my things and I can't thank him or Cuddy enough for the things they've done for House and I.

He keeps vigil, making sure I'm drinking enough water, making sure I'm taking my medication, making sure I'm comfortable. The first night in two months that we sleep in the same bed is heaven. I lie on my side and he scoots in behind me, spooning me, holding me and he settles his hand at first on my breast and he tells me they're big and he likes it.

We lie there, talking, for what seems like days and his hand migrates to my stomach, where our baby is growing. He kisses my neck and I feel like although things have been going so wrong, this is so right.

I wake up the next morning and his face is pressed into my neck and his arms are around me as if to hold on for dear life. I roll over so we're face to face and I stare at him, at his concentrated face, at his eyes moving behind his eyelids, at his nostrils flaring. I smile, beyond happy to be in our bed, in his warmth. He slowly opens his eyes and I watch his pupils adjust to the light and he furrows his eyebrows before hugging me tighter and calling me an asshole.

After the time in the hospital, with all the treatment and medications, I feel better, although a little nauseous. House tells me it'll subside soon enough and to stop whining. He raises himself up on his elbows and looks down on me, brushing my hair from my face. He tells me he's glad I'm here and says he's going to attempt breakfast.

I hear banging around and cursing in the kitchen, a telltale sign that he really is attempting to cook. He comes back with underdone toast and overdone eggs and although it grosses me out a bit, I slowly eat it all without throwing up. I get up and I pee successfully, then I shower and brush my teeth. He tells me to hurry and get back into bed and I find him there, playing the guitar.

I get back into bed and listen to him playing, and I feel relaxed. We fall into a relaxed routine over the next few days and he cares for me like he never has before. He tries to cook, somewhat successfully, but when the first week is over and I've gained three pounds and my symptoms are almost gone, I reclaim my place in the kitchen.

The first meal I make, macadamia pancakes, makes him melt. He tells me to stay in bed most of the day, but lets me get up to cook. He hasn't eaten well in the past couple of months and I feel good about taking care of him that way again.

When he gets into bed that night, I make my move on him. I start to kiss his ear, his neck, his mouth. He tries to protest, to be noble and tells me I'm still not one hundred percent healthy, but I ignore him and straddle him and raise my shirt over my head. My breasts are fuller than usual and I know he likes it. I hope he doesn't see my slightly fuller stomach and get turned off, but his hands go to my breasts and I lose all thought.

xXxXx

When I take Henri home, Cuddy tells me she doesn't want to see me for a week. She's seen Henri deteriorate and wants me to make it up to her, be a good man to her.

I know Henri will be getting bigger and bigger and the bigger the belly, the sooner the labor and the sooner a screaming, pooping, needing little person shoots out of her; the idea of it creeps me out.

We get back to the apartment, and I'm as nice as I can be and I let her lean on me until we get to the bedroom and she lies down. Wilson brings over her things and I thank him for looking after her. Wilson has always been there for me, trying to fix my disasters, supporting me and giving me advice. I'll never thank him the way he probably deserves.

I go into doctor mode, taking on a bedside manner the likes of which I've criticized Cameron for all these years. I make sure she's keeping hydrated and medicated and comfortable. This is very unlike me and it feels strange. The first night in two months that we sleep in the same bed is complete ecstasy. She lies on her side and I slide in behind her, spooning her, holding her and I settle my hand on her breast and they're big and I like it.

We lie there, talking, for what seems like days and my hand migrates to her stomach, where all my fears and worries are. I'm trying to calm down about it, but it still feels like a train racing toward me and I can't get off the tracks in time before it hits me. At the same time, there's something inside me that's… excited? No, it couldn't be that. I kiss her neck and then I know; even though things have been going so wrong, this is so right and nothing I can say or do or think will change it. It fits perfectly. It makes sense.

I wake up and when my eyes focus, I see her staring at me, smiling. I squeeze her tighter in my arms and tell her she's an asshole. Her body and her warmth are wonderful and I just want to stay here in bed forever. She feels better, as I expected she would, but she's still nauseous, as I expected. I tell her it'll be over soon and she should stop whining. I raise myself up on my elbows and look down on her perfect face and brush the hair out of her eyes. She needs food, needs to gain weight and get healthy so I tell her I'm glad she's here and so I'm going to try to make her breakfast.

I over do the eggs and I can see they're a little dry and I don't get the toast dark enough, but I know it'll be a piece of charcoal if I try to get it darker. It's the best I can do and it's a good breakfast for her. She eats slowly and I know she's being polite because my cooking is horrendous. She eats without vomiting and so I let her get up and get into the bathroom.

While she's in there, I grab my guitar and start strumming a few chords, a little of the Beatles, a little of the Stones, a little B.B. King. I hear her get out of the shower and brush her teeth and I tell her to hurry up and get back into bed. She lies close to me, listening to the twang of the guitar strings and our breathing in the silence of the apartment.

We fall into a relaxed, casual routine over the next few days and I try my best to do the things she needs me to. I try to cook, but it never ends up the way her food does, it's either over salted or undercooked or burned or there's something about it that doesn't taste right. She must use her recipes as a guideline, but she strays from the exactness of it all. When the first week is over and she's gained three pounds and her symptoms are nearly gone, she gets back into the kitchen and I couldn't be happier.

She makes me macadamia pancakes for breakfast and I know I married the right woman. I have her stay in bed or lying on the couch most of the day, but when mealtimes roll around, I let her get up and cook; I tease her, telling her she's exactly where she should be, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. I haven't eaten anything more than canned soup, burritos and Wilson's lunches for the past couple of months and I'm thankful she's taking care of me again. She makes me grilled cheese with bacon and tomato, cut into four triangles, the way I like it and for dinner she makes creamy, cheesy broccoli pasta. I'm in heaven.

When she gets into bed that night, she makes her move on me. She kisses my ear, my neck, my mouth. I try to do the good thing and tell her she's not healthy enough yet, but she ignores me and straddles me and when she pulls her shirt off I know I'm a goner. Her breasts have gotten so much bigger since I've seen them and although I thought it would turn me off, the slight curve of her stomach makes me want her more. I grab onto her and lose all thought.


	41. Chapter 41

I'm halfway through my fifth month of pregnancy. We're at a partner's pregnancy yoga class after Wilson bribed House with promises of a monster truck show this weekend if he'd go with me. The fact that I'm wearing spandex didn't hurt, either. He won't keep his hands in appropriate places, tries to wrestle with me and after berating the teacher, calling her a new age train wreck, we're asked to not come back.

House is relieved knowing he never has to go back, I'm embarrassed but I can't stop laughing. I'm annoyed, I was looking forward to doing something good for my body, but I can't help but think that I knew something like this was coming. I'd been trying to get House to come to some sort of class with me, whether it be pregnancy yoga, Lamaze or just a birthing education class. He tries to spout off his medical knowledge to make me feel at ease, but it just makes me angry. He can give me all the facts that he knows, but squeezing a baby out of my yoohoo is scary, no matter how it's explained.

I'm hungry and we head out for lunch. House can't keep his hands to himself and I feel sexy. I've gotten bigger, but it looks like I have a small cushion underneath my shirt; the rest of my body looks normal, with the exception of my big boobs. I just feel good about the way my body looks and the way House seems to like it.

I completely destroy a plate of nachos before my chicken sandwich arrives and that is demolished as well. House is always surprised at how much I can pack away. When we leave the restaurant, we go back to the apartment and fling off our clothes. Our sex life has picked up where it left off, but sometimes I feel like we've somehow added fuel to our fire.

In the aftermath, we're lying in bed naked and he puts his hand out and rests it on my belly. Inside, I feel a flutter and the baby kicks his hand. He looks at where is hand is almost in wonder, as if he has no idea what mysteries lay within the belly of a pregnant woman. I don't think he's quite accepted the idea of fatherhood, but I think he's slowly warming to it, experiencing the feeling of knowing that a part of you is inside the woman you love.

We roll around in bed, naked, kissing and touching and for a while he brings out the guitar and tries to teach me a few chords before getting fed up with my shitty hand-eye coordination. We're just about to get up and do some naked cooking when his pager goes off. His patient is going into multiple organ failure and he needs to rush to the hospital.

He dresses as quickly as he can and kisses my forehead, my lips, my neck, my shoulder my breast and he works his way down my body and puts his knee on the bed as if to start something he has no time to finish. I giggle, but then sternly tell him to go, someone's life is at risk. I promise to bring him dinner later and he walks out and I hear the motorcycle rev up and speed down the street.

I'm probably going to be alone tonight; he'll likely be at the hospital all night trying to solve the case. He isn't into Sudoku or crosswords like me, he's into illnesses and heart rates and white cell counts. I love his mind, how he just seems to be able to figure anything out. I stay in our bed and run my hands over my belly. I smell him on the sheets and my lips are swollen from his kisses. I'm relaxed and happy and I think he is, too. Things seem to be coming together like they should.

xXxXx

I've found myself at a partner's pregnancy yoga class and I don't know quite how I got here. All I know is that there was spandex and monster truck tickets involved. Henri is almost six months pregnant. The boobs in my life are getting bigger and I like it. I have my hands on Henri's hips and there's some strange hippy woman telling us to help our partners find peace and balance.

My hands slide over Henri's ass, which looks amazing in her tight black yoga pants. She slaps my hands away and so I move them to her huge breasts, pushed together and lifted by her sports bra. She's trying to stay serious and when she moves my hands back to her hips, I press my pelvis against her ass. She makes a wisecrack about keeping it in my pants or she'll sabotage my cane. Someone near us shushes us and now I can't resist.

I've seen this yoga woman's disapproving stares at me and I want to ruffle her feathers; well, not just hers. I grab Henri just under her boobs, wrapping my arms around her and try to wrestle her to the ground.. I may be a cripple, but I have better upper body strength. The other couples around us are obviously appalled and Henri's laughing, trying to slip her head out of my grasp.

The yoga woman tells us we're being disruptive and it isn't a tranquil environment for our couples and babies. I tell her to save it and I call her a new age train wreck that doesn't know the first thing about birthing; she's exploiting naïve pregnant women by trying to get them to believe in this shit. She's angry, but her new age, care about everyone attitude doesn't let her get angry. She tells us to leave and never come back. Thank god.

We walk out and Henri tries to be furious. She lays into me about how I can never behave, I can never keep my mouth shut, I can never think about what other people are trying to achieve and I only think about myself. She's right, but when she starts laughing about what happened, I know she was just kidding. I've killed the pregnancy class experiment for Henri and I; no more yoga or Lamaze or birthing education. I have enough medical knowledge to deliver a baby in a cave with no light, equipped with nothing but my hands and some Vicodin; for me, of course.

We head for lunch and I can't keep my hands to myself. I keep grabbing that sweet, perfect ass, hugged tightly by a thin layer of black spandex. When I can, I grab some boobage and kiss her neck. She's glowing, loving every second of it. I know she feels sexy and I find her incredibly sexy. Her body is perfectly normal, except for the larger breasts and the belly that just looks like she shoved a cushion up there. Henri squeezes into the booth and I think about making a joke, but she will be much bigger soon and although I'm an asshole, I have to be a little sensitive or I won't get any booty.

Henri shovels down the appetizer, nachos with extra cheese, and I barely get any. I try to get a little something when I think she's too busy stuffing her face, but she smacks me every time. She's been territorial with her food ever since her recovery. It's good that she's gaining weight and has a healthy appetite, but it kills my scavenging. Wilson tells me that now I know how it feels to never get a bite of your own food. Idiot.

When we leave the restaurant, we go back to the apartment and fling off our clothes. Our sex life has picked up where it left off, but sometimes I feel like we've somehow added fuel to our fire. There's something about her body that turns me on and it's strange.

In the aftermath, we're lying in bed naked and I rest my hand on her belly. I feel a flutter as the baby moves under my hand. I stare at it, befuddled. Why would it move now, under my hand, as opposed to any other time? I haven't quite accepted the idea of fatherhood and I'd still love to run for the hills from it, but it's moments like these that I'm not so panicked. Maybe it's knowing that a part of me is inside her and it gives me these strange feelings I can't quite name.

We roll around in bed, naked, kissing and touching and for a while I bring out the guitar and try to teach her a few chords before getting fed up with her shitty hand-eye coordination. I'm not really sure how someone so intelligent, so artistic, so clever and yet completely unable to grasp the concept of playing an instrument. We're just about to get up and do some naked cooking when my pager goes off. I lean over and grab it off the dresser. My patient is going into multiple organ failure and I need to rush to the hospital.

I dress as quickly as I can and I kiss her forehead, her lips, her neck, her shoulder, her breast and I'm halfway down her belly, putting a knee back onto the bed as if to start something I have no time to finish. She giggles but then gets serious and pushes me away, telling me to go, someone's life is at risk. She promises to bring me dinner later and I hobble out and get on my motorcycle.

She's probably going to be alone tonight; I'll likely be at the hospital all night trying to solve this case. I'm not into Sudoku or crosswords like she is, I'm more into infections and tumors and brain scans. Although there is a beautiful woman lying in my bed naked and my patient is near death and probably has no chance, I have an undying need to find out what's wrong. She'll be there when I get back, which makes me relaxed and happy. Things seem to be coming together like they should.


	42. Chapter 42

I wake up to the shrill ringing of my cell phone on the nightstand. I groan and roll over and I know I'm still alone in bed. It's still dark out and I see on my caller ID that it's Wilson. I'm groggy and my voice is scratchy and I answer in an angry tone. I sit up when I hear the words motorcycle accident. I flip the phone shut and I don't care that I'm in a short nightgown; I throw on one of his button-down shirts, slip on some shoes and start out the door.

What could have possibly happened in the last few hours? I dropped off a nice late night dinner, got a nice late night kiss and gave him nice late night oral sex. I'm bleary-eyed and panicked as I race over to the hospital. It's nearly two in the morning and I'm hoping there aren't any cops on the way over.

I get to the hospital and Wilson's waiting for me. He looks disheveled and tired, like he got out of bed for this, too. I don't know why I wasn't called first. I'm frantic, my heart racing. He grabs me by the shoulders and tells me to calm down, but I'm hysterical. What am I supposed to do if something awful has happened? I can't be without him, I can't be alone with a baby.

Wilson grabs me again and gives me a little shake and tells me to get a grip, it's not bad. I take a moment to calm down and we walk to where House is being kept. He's sitting there, his legs hanging over the edge of a hospital bed and he's telling a nurse to leave him alone. I'm immediately relieved. He has a minor concussion, his left shoulder is dislocated and he has a few scrapes and bruises on his left arm and leg.

I'm relieved and angry at the same time. I'm relieved that he hasn't been seriously injured, but I'm angry for him getting me scared like this. He sees me and the corner of his mouth goes up in a half smile. I walk up to him and punch him hard in his right shoulder. He groans in pain and starts laughing. I want to know why he's laughing and he tells me it's because I'm cute when I'm angry and I punch like a girl.

I yell at him, telling him how scared I was for him, for us. I want to know what the hell he was doing and I hope I can stop myself from crying because of my anger. He hops off the bed and holds me with his good arm, kissing my temple and resting his cheek on top of my head. He tells me he didn't mean to get me so upset and he's fine.

He was racing to get home and it'd rained briefly and he took a corner too fast and too hard and slid. The bike is fine, just scratched and I tell him that I'm so happy the bike is okay. He tells me sarcasm is his thing, I should stick to using my body and not my wit to get the point across.

We get home and he's in a serious amount of pain. His shoulder and scratches combined with being on his leg all day have made him quite cranky and in the kind of pain that his normal routine of popping Vicodin like Skittles not enough. He breaks out the morphine, and I have to look away. It's not that I have a problem with his drug use; I don't. I don't condone it, I shouldn't be okay with it, but it is what it is. I'm not one to talk, anyway. I just hate needles and I don't want to see them.

I help him to bed and he rests his head on my chest, nearly comatose. He's still awake but in a heavily drug induced state and he lazily runs his hand over my belly. I can't tell if he's doing this because he likes the texture of my shirt or if he likes the roundness of it or if he's doing it out of love.

I sing to him quietly and when he finally passes out, I decide to exact my revenge. There need to be consequences for his actions. I know I'll pay for this later, but I slide out from underneath him and head to his desk, where I know therein lays a certain black permanent marker…

xXxXx

It's been a long day and my leg is killing me. We ended up having to do a kidney transplant on my patient and with the right cocktail of medications, he'll be fine. I can't wait to get back to Henri and wake her up with a midnight boning. She came in a few hours ago and brought me some dinner and ended up giving me head; it was fantastic. I hop on the motorcycle and head back to our apartment, where a woman wearing no panties is waiting for me.

I'm going faster than I should, but I really want to get home as quickly as possible. I'm exhausted and in pain and horny. It's been raining all night and it's finally stopped and I take my turns hard and fast and I'm halfway home when my back wheel catches a slick spot and I go down, hard on my left side. I feel a sharp pain shooting up my left arm and my head slams against a curb and I black out for a few minutes.

When I regain consciousness, I'm still lying on the pavement, the bike still running. I groan, in pain, and sit up. I can't move my left arm and I'm thinking I dislocated it. My left leg and arm are throbbing and I turn off the bike and gingerly remove my helmet as best as I can with one arm. I call PPTH and tell them to send an ambulance for me.

When I get there, I call Wilson. He's sleeping and I wake he and Cuddy up and I can hear she's pissed. I tell him to come to the hospital so he can give me a ride home; I don't want to wake Henri and worry her. He comes and he's not happy to be awake, but he shakes his head and grins and tells me he told me I'd drop the bike one of these days. He tells me Henri will be here soon to get me and now I'm the one who's pissed. I didn't call her because I didn't want to scare her. I ask him if he's an idiot and he shrugs; he didn't know how bad it was and didn't want my wife surprised if I didn't come home.

Wilson goes downstairs to meet her and tell her I'm okay. While he's gone, a nurse is trying to get my shoulder back into its socket. She pops it in and I shout out in pain. She tries to grab it to make sure it's okay and I tell her to leave me alone. Henri whips open the curtain, but she doesn't look upset, she looks angry. She's standing there in a nightgown that barely covers her ass and I can see her nipples through the fabric. She's got one of my shirts on and she's wearing some big, clunky clogs. I smile because she looks beautiful and because I think it's funny that she's so concerned.

She walks up and punches me in my good arm and I groan and start laughing. I tell her she's cute when she's angry and she punches like a girl. She starts to yell at me and tells me how scared she was. She wants to know what I was doing and she looks like she's about to explode or cry; we can't have either.. I have to do some damage control now, so I slide off the hospital bed and hobble over to her and I hold her with my one good arm. I kiss her temple and rest my cheek on top of her head and it feels good to comfort her. She cares this much and it makes me forget my pain for a moment.

I tell her I didn't mean to make her upset and I tell her what happened. She's sarcastic when she tells me she's happy the bike's okay. I tell her sarcasm is my thing and she should stick to using her body and not her wit to get her point across. She smiles and now I know I'm out of the dog house.

We get home and I can barely stand, I'm in so much pain. My shoulder and the scratches and my leg are making me cranky and this is the kind of pain that my Vicodin isn't going to fix unless I completely overdose. I break out the morphine and Henri has to look away; she hates needles. She doesn't harp on me about my drug use; it's not like she was much better before she got pregnant, with the alcohol and the joints and the occasional pill and that incident with the coke. I've obviously found a wonderful woman if she can deal with my temperament and my pills.

The rush of the morphine is amazing and I need help to get to bed. I'm still awake for a while, embracing my high. I rest my head on Henri's chest and I run my hand over her belly. It's soft and round and I like it. Our baby's in there and it still boggles my mind. Henri sings to me and I fall into a deep, painless, dreamless sleep.

I wake up the next day, in pain but more of an ache than anything else and so I go the Vicodin route. Henri's sleeping, her nightgown riding up and exposing her belly. She's snoring; ever since she started getting bigger, sleeping on her back has caused her to snore. I get up and go to shower and as I'm brushing my teeth, I look at myself in the mirror. In black marker, the words HUG ME are on my forehead.

I groan. This is Henri's way of getting back at me for scaring her. She's a worthy opponent; I couldn't have thought of anything better. I'm hoping it's washable, but as I scrub at it, it only fades a little bit and causes my forehead to go red. Good play, madam. If she thought she was going to draw on me and get away with it, however, she was quite mistaken. I won't go for the face, but I'll go just as visible; I write WHO IS MY BABY'S DADDY? across her chest and, smiling, I shower.


	43. Chapter 43

House is out of his sling, but the cuts and bruises from his fall off the bike still remain. Thinking that he was seriously hurt was stressful and now I know how he's felt every time I've been in the hospital, my future uncertain. I don't want to have that feeling ever again and I don't want him to feel that way, either. I hate that I've been such a burden, such a damsel in distress; that isn't me and I know House doesn't like the role of rescuer.

It's March and I can't believe it's been almost a year since I got arrested and this whole crazy thing started. The police still haven't found Tritter and it freaks me out. My scar has faded a bit, not so pink and noticeable. Sometimes, when it's raining really hard, my shoulder is stiff and I don't like to use my arm.

By writing on House, I started an epic prank war that began with harmless permanent markers and ended in his bike being chained to a telephone pole, my hair covered in honey and laxatives in the coffee. We had a huge fight and ended up in bed, as always.

We're out for a huge dinner tonight, with almost everyone we know. Cameron, Chase, Taub and his wife, Thirteen, Foreman, Kutner and a girl he's been seeing are all at the table. Cuddy and Wilson have brought Aaron, who is almost eight months old. Cuddy is absolutely radiant as she holds the baby under the arms and lets him kick his legs around while he laughs. He has big brown eyes and a shock of dark hair. She has a wide smile for him and kisses his cheek.

When she gets up to go to the bathroom, she asks if I want to take him. Wilson is deeply involved in a conversation with Taub and so I feel on the spot. I say yes, but when she hands him to me, I feel awkward.

He looks around and his tiny hand grabs at the neck of my shirt and starts to pull it down. At this point, House has turned his attention from Kutner and his girlfriend to me. He says Aaron has a good idea; my boob is almost falling out. I take his little hand and try to pry it off my shirt, but he has quite the grip on it. I don't want to expose myself in the restaurant, but if he doesn't let go, it's going to happen.

I finally get his hand off my shirt, but he doesn't seem to like that. He starts to cry and I'm immediately embarrassed. I try to hold him in a way that's a little more comfortable for both of us, trying to stop him from crying, but eventually Wilson has to come and grab him and he stops wailing the second his father picks him up. I am a complete failure.

We get home and I'm in a panic. Babies can't fend for themselves, they need you to do everything for them. The responsibility of it all is weighing down on me. I look at myself in the mirror and I'm huge. In less than three months, this will all turn into a big bundle of responsibility. House catches me looking in the mirror and tells me I should lay off the doughnuts, I've gained a little weight.

When I start to cry, he sighs and tells me he didn't mean it. It's not the fat joke, I tell him. The responsibility of a baby is starting to scare me and I don't know if I want to do this anymore. He tells me it's a little late for that and he puts a hand on my stomach. The baby kicks as if to remind me that it's there.

I tell him I want to go for a ride on the motorcycle and he rolls his eyes. He tells me a ride on the motorcycle isn't going to get rid of my fears. Besides, he says, I won't fit anymore. I can't drink, I can't smoke, I can't ride on the bike. I look like an elephant and my back hurts and every time I want to go get something to eat, I have to make sure it's safe and it's not something that's going to make me nauseous. An eight pound person is going to be shooting out of my vag in a little while and I won't be able to get up and go at the drop of a hat like I used to.

He tells me he'll take me out to a nice dinner tomorrow night if it means I'll stop obsessing over things I can't change. He says he'll even let me get an appetizer all to myself. He smiles a big, fake toothy smile, hoping I'll drop the conversation. He says he'll take me for a night on the town, we'll do whatever I want, as long as I stop whining.

In any other situation, I would take him up on it and make him sit through something unbearable like a women's poetry reading or a concert with music he hates and I'd make him take me to an uber-expensive restaurant and eat and drink my weight.

I don't feel like it and I go to bed early, depressed.

xXxXx

I'm out of the sling, but my cuts and bruises from my fall are still there, slowly fading. I think Henri got a serious dose of stress when I fell off the bike and now she knows how it feels to have the person you love in the hospital. I don't want her to experience those feelings and I don't want to ever again, either. It was terrifying every time she was in the hospital, her future uncertain. I don't like feeling helpless or being the rescuer.

It's March and it's been about a year since this whole mess with Tritter started. The police still haven't found him and I'm furious. He's still out there and I feel like a paranoid idiot, looking over my shoulder, waiting for retaliation. Henri's scar has faded, but it will always be there and so will the memory.

By writing on me, Henri started an epic prank war that began with harmless permanent markers and ended in the sabotaging of my office chair, Henri peeing her pants because I locked the bathroom door and the ruining of our toaster. We had a huge fight and ended up in bed, as always.

We're out for a huge dinner tonight, with almost everyone we know, although I'm unsure of the occasion. My entire team is here, along with my former team and a couple of new faces. Cuddy and Wilson have brought their baby, who is nearly eight months old. Cuddy is doting on her little bundle of joy, smiling and giving him kisses. It's like the happy ending of a Lifetime movie.

I'm having a conversation with Kutner and his new girlfriend, a pretty Asian woman who seems to be just as much of a nerd as Kutner. I'm telling them about the fight Henri and I had after writing on each other with permanent marker; it began with screaming and ended in bed. I couldn't get people to leave me alone for two days when that crap was on my forehead. Henri was lucky, as she didn't have to go out into public at all. I turn around and I see Cuddy has excused herself from the table and handed her baby over to Henri. The look of horror on Henri's face is classic. The baby's hand is at the neckline of her shirt, pulling it down, on the verge of exposing her breast. I laugh and tell her Aaron has a good idea.

She's trying to get the hand off of her shirt, lest she really does get exposed in public, but he has a strong grasp on it. When she finally frees herself, he starts to cry. I hate the sound of crying babies; it's nerve-grating. She's wide eyed and embarrassed and she's trying to hold him and hush him, but she has no idea what she's doing. Finally, Wilson has to come get him and the kid stops crying the second he's picked up. Henri is red in the face and I think she must feel like a failure.

We get home and I'm looking forward to some sex but I walk into our bedroom and she's looking at her profile in the mirror. I'm thinking she's having one of those "fat days" that women always talk about and I want to make her laugh so I tell her she should lay off the doughnuts. She starts to cry and I sigh. I hate this emotional shit; Henri was never like this before she started growing a human being inside her. I apologize and tell her I didn't mean it.

In less than three months, we will be parents and the idea is killing her. She's not sure if she wants this anymore and I tell her it's a little late for that. I put my hand on her belly and the baby kicks as if to state its presence.

She tells me she wants to go for a ride on the motorcycle and I roll my eyes; is she an idiot or something? I remind her that a ride on the motorcycle isn't going to rid her of her fears about motherhood. Besides, she won't fit on the back anymore. She can't drink, she can't smoke, she can't ride on the bike. She's getting bigger by the day and her back hurts and she's having food aversions. She uses some colorful wording to describe what's about to happen to her in three months and she's hung up on the fact that she won't be able to do whatever she wants whenever she wants anymore.

I try to bribe her to get out of this self pitying game and I tell her I'll take her to a nice dinner if she stops obsessing over things she can't change. I try to be a wise guy, try to get her to smile by promising wonderful things like appetizers; gotta feed the whale. I promise her we can do whatever she wants, and I'm surprised when she declines.

In any other situation, Henri would take me up on this offer and make him sit through something awful, like a birthing lecture or a movie I have no interest in seeing, then she'd drag me out to an expensive restaurant and eat us into debt. She doesn't take me up on my offer and she goes to bed, depressed.


	44. Chapter 44

I'm huge and gross and tired. I'm seven months pregnant and I'm so exhausted that I don't know how I can do this for another two months; I don't know how much bigger I can get. It's a beautiful April day, but I don't want to get out of bed.

House has been surprisingly good about this entire thing. He still finds me attractive and we still have regular sex, which is astonishing. After having sex with a thin, young woman I would have thought that my pregnant body would disgust him. We can't have sex Olympics like we used to, but he still wants me and that makes me feel better.

My sister in-law is coming down for a small, quiet baby shower. She's bringing Justin, who's a year old now and has a head of fuzzy blond hair. Cuddy and Aaron are also coming and my friend Gerri is making the trek. She can't believe I'm pregnant and sometimes I can't, either. I wake up in the morning sometimes, surprised to have this huge belly. The idea of motherhood is stressing me out and I don't know if I'm ready. House tells me I'd better get ready, but I know he's scared, too.

When the four of us are sitting around the apartment, Sherry asks me when we're moving. I ask her why we would move and she reminds me we only have one bedroom. This is something I've never really thought about. House has lived here for years; he was here long before me and I know he'll be reluctant to give it up. I, too, will be reluctant to give it up. I like our location, I like our cozy little apartment and I don't want it to change.

I feel unprepared for all of this. I haven't purchased anything, not a crib, not a car seat, not even a onesie or a bottle. My father and brother Jeremy have sent Sherry down with presents, so I have a car seat and a stroller and Sherry has gotten me a big box of bottles, a blanket, some diapers and some of the clothes her kids have outgrown. Cuddy gets me one of those baby carriers that you buckle across your chest.

Gerri, always one to cheer me up, gets me some diapers and some really cool clothes; she brings a Guns N' Roses onesie, some really cute shoes and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. I love that she's taken my style into consideration. I'm not really one for pastel colors, duckies and bows. She also presents me with a big bottle of champagne. She tells me if I don't have a drink after nine sober months, I'm crazy.

When they leave, I'm frantic. I'm so not ready for this. Our apartment is too small and I don't have anything for the baby. What does a baby need, anyway? I need to get a crib, some blankets, formula, more diapers, more clothes, more bottles, shoes, wipes, changing table. I don't even know what else.

I ambush House at the hospital, where he's sitting with Foreman, drinking coffee. I'm beside myself and I start talking about all the things we need to do and how little time there is. Foreman must think I'm psychotic the way I always barge in here, freaking out. He sighs and excuses himself from Foreman and we go into his office.

He knows we have to get a new place, but wants to worry about it later, when the kid's getting big enough to run around. His mother is sending a crib and he's taking me out tomorrow to go baby shopping and now I feel like a moron. House, the man who never wanted to be a father, has already thought of everything. I'm supposed to be the one with the parenting instinct, like every other woman around me, and yet I can't even figure out how to prepare for an infant.

My hormones are haywire and my emotions are heightened and so I start to cry. I tell him I think maybe we should just give the baby up because I'm going to be an awful mother. I sit down and he holds my head against his stomach and smoothes my hair. He sighs that exasperated sigh; he hates dealing with emotions like this. The only emotions he understands are contentment, lust, anger and annoyance.

He tells me I'll be fine, I'm just having cold feet. I just need to see the baby and I'll feel better about the whole thing. He says I'm just afraid of the changes going on in my body and in the environment around me. He's right because I'd do anything to have things go back the way they were, back to simpler times. I'm hoping he's right about the baby. He probably is.

I go home, feeling like an idiot.

xXxXx

Henri is getting frustrated with being pregnant. She's bigger by the day and she's tired, her back and ankles hurt, and she feels like a balloon. Sometimes she'll just lie down on the couch and won't get up for six hours. I've had to order out twice this week because she wasn't feeling up to cooking. I don't know how I can do this for another two months.

She's having her baby shower today. I'm thankful that I don't have to be around for the female bonding bullshit. The only good thing about baby showers is all the free shit you get. My mother is sending a crib for us. She was ecstatic when I told her that Henri was expecting. She never thought I'd get married, let alone reproduce. She's vowed to come down and help us out when the baby's born, but I told her it wasn't necessary. I love my mother, but I don't really need to deal with her nurturing and puttering around my place, babying me _and_ my baby.

I know what Wilson and Cuddy got us; one of those weird marsupial pouches that parents carry their children in when they want to be hands-free. There's something about strapping an infant to your chest that seems warped. I don't know that I'd ever be caught dead wearing one of those things, but maybe Henri will put it to good use.

I have my team out running tests and Foreman and I are waxing poetic about autoimmune diseases. I appreciate Foreman for his intelligence and his tenacity, but I do love to make him angry with racial slurs. I've just made coffee and it's hot and bitter and good and the caffeine is going to give me a great kick.

Henri bursts in and part of me is irritated. I know she's having some sort of emotional crisis and she's going to start jabbering on about something or other and Foreman is going to give me that look that tells me that I might be crazy, but she's _crazy_. I have to excuse myself from Foreman and I usher her into my office.

She's freaking out because she doesn't know how to prepare for a baby. She's going on about having to move into a bigger place, needing a crib and more bottles and diapers and I try to reassure her by letting her know that I've taken care of almost everything. We don't need to move quite yet; the baby won't take up a lot of space for a while. When things have died down, we'll start looking for a bigger apartment or a condo or even a house. I don't like that we have to move; I've been in the same place for many years and it sucks to have to leave.

She feels bad that I, the reluctant parent, have thought of everything whereas she's still in the dark. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do or what she's supposed to get and I have to take her shopping tomorrow for the rest of the shit we're going to need. I'm going to have to make Wilson come over and help rearrange some furniture so we can fit the crib into the bedroom. I can kiss my peaceful nights goodbye.

Her hormones are haywire and her emotions are heightened and she starts to cry. I hate it when she cries. She hates it, too, finds it embarrassing, but she can't help it this time. She thinks we should give the baby up for adoption because she's going to be an awful mother. It's a stupid idea and I'm tired of her feelings of inadequacy. She sits and I hold her head against my stomach and smooth her hair, trying to comfort her and get her to stop with this insanity.

I tell her she'll be fine, she's just having cold feet. She just needs to see the baby and she'll feel better. Women get all gaga when they hold their kids for the first time. She, just like any other pregnant woman, is just upset about the changes going on around us and the changes in her body.

When I take her shopping the next day, we're both stressed. I hate to shop and Henri is paranoid and wants to make sure we get everything we need. We've filled an entire shopping cart with the basics: bottles, baby shampoo, diapers, formula, socks, blankets, plain onesies, wipes, an ear thermometer, baby aspirin, rash cream, bibs, spoons.

I hate all of the cute, sweet baby clothes. Bows, lace, pastels and Pooh Bear aren't things I'd let my kid wear; Wilson's kid, sure, but not mine. We're driving around when I spot a store that looks promising. Inside, there are more baby clothes that are more my style. Henri falls in love with the graphic t-shirts, the pajamas advertising rock bands and the black booties. I do believe we've discovered our store.

When we get home, we've spent almost $500. Henri starts the process of organizing and folding and washing everything. I'm not interested in that part of it all, so I sit on the couch and watch _The OC_. I've done my share.


	45. Chapter 45

I'm gigantic. I haven't seen my feet in weeks and my back is killing me. I don't like to see myself naked because the image is just too bizarre. I thought I'd get through the pregnancy without stretch marks, but the last couple of weeks have made them appear, zigzags across my hips.

I'm lying down on my back on the couch, my head turned to watch TV. House is swearing up a storm, trying to get the crib together in our bedroom. Wilson and Cuddy are over, Wilson pushing furniture around to give us enough room for the crib and the dresser that will hold all of the baby clothes. It'll be a little cramped, but now is not the time to move. Cuddy is in a chair, feeding the baby and watching TV with me.

The baby won't stop moving around and when I look down at my belly, I can see movement. I pull up my shirt and I can see the baby moving under my skin. It's creepy as hell and I'm waiting for an alien to burst out and eat my face. I put my hand near my belly button and feel the baby moving inside and outside. Surreal.

Cuddy makes a comment about how wonderful she felt whenever she saw the baby move, whenever she felt it. I don't know how this woman had such an easy pregnancy; mine has been absolute hell. I had morning sickness and food aversions, she didn't; I have back pain, she had very little; I'm having incredible mood swings, she was happy the whole time.

It's hard to believe I have a month and a half to go. I feel so big and round, I don't know how I can get any bigger. I don't feel ugly today. I feel tired, yes, but today I feel amazing and I run my hands over my belly and I find out exactly where the baby is positioned. The feet are kicking up towards my ribs and the head is down near my pelvis.

Sometimes I want to give in and ask my OB what the sex is, but I'd rather be surprised. I'm actually amazed that I haven't given in and asked. I love surprises, but only when I don't expect them. It's like having a birthday present sitting on the counter a few days before your birthday; you want to wait to open it, but it's there and you're curious. House doesn't understand the waiting thing. He thinks that if we can find out now, why not? It would get us more prepared for names and for clothing choices. I'm sure he can tell from the ultrasounds, but he's been good and hasn't let on whether or not he knows.

There's more cursing and I hear a clatter and a crash and I sigh. Using every bit of strength that I have, I hoist myself off the couch and shuffle into the bedroom. House is sitting in the middle of a pile of crib parts and he looks like he's at the end of his rope. Wilson is laughing and suggests he help; he'd put Aaron's together.

House wants to be stubborn and do it himself, but I tell him to let Wilson help. He sighs and looks resigned and hands a screwdriver to Wilson. I smile and waddle towards the kitchen to get myself a snack. I push around in the fridge and find some leftover Chinese food. I don't even bother microwaving it and I go back to the couch and start stuffing my face.

When the crib is done and I see it sitting there, empty, I have a strange feeling that I have no time to organize anything. I excuse myself from watching TV with everyone and I start putting all the baby clothes into the drawers, getting blankets and sheets into the crib and arranging the diapers and wipes on top of the dresser.

The doctors in the house call this nesting. It's the instinct in an expecting woman to ready everything for the baby and make sure everything is perfect. Cuddy tells me about how she would take apart furniture just to disinfect every nut, bolt and screw. She painted the baby's room three times and couldn't stop folding and unfolding and refolding the baby clothes. I hope I'm not this insane, but House takes one look at me and tells me I'll probably be worse. He says he expects I'll disassemble the entire apartment building and rebuild it, brick by brick.

I roll my eyes at him and steal the other half of his sandwich, plopping down beside him on the sofa. He gives me a death glare as I take a huge bite, realize it's a Reuben, and give it back. I hate Reubens. He starts to berate me, but Wilson hushes him. Aaron is asleep, leaning on his shoulder.

Wilson is the kind of dad that makes you think of Hallmark cards and warm fuzzy feelings and wearing that ugly tie you bought him for Father's Day. He looks picture perfect with his son sleeping in his arms. He's gentle and caring and sweet and it looks like he knows exactly what to do.

Cuddy is exactly the same way. She expertly swaddles and feeds and holds him, looks at him with complete adoration. She's been aching to be a mother for years and now she's finally gotten everything she's ever wanted. She's got that mothering instinct and I envy that.

I can only hope that House and I can eventually get there.

xXxXx

I fucking hate putting shit together like this. I loathe trying to perfectly align the sides, I despise all the tiny parts with seemingly no purpose at all, and I absolutely detest the convoluted directions written by some Swedish high school dropout. I don't know why furniture doesn't come with free assembly with delivery.

Henri's belly is immense, getting bigger by the day. She complains a lot about her back pain and being unable to see her own legs. She hates seeing herself naked because she thinks she looks like she's stuck in a funhouse mirror. She's getting stretch marks and she feels gross, but I still think she's gorgeous. We have sex regularly, but not as much as I'd like to. Her fatigue and poor self image has cooled her libido.

She gets to lie down on the couch, watching TV with Cuddy while I do the hard labor, trying to get this damnable crib together. I've put Wilson to work, too, rearranging our furniture so that we can fit the crib and the baby's dresser into the room in a way that doesn't clutter it all too much.

I've been surprisingly relaxed lately. I'm not sure why; I should be panicked. I'm going to be a father in about a month and a half. I can feel the baby moving inside her belly, I can see its appendages move her skin around like an alien. It's kind of amazing that I had a part in creating this creature. It's a part of me and I can only hope that there's nothing horribly wrong. So far, things are looking good.

Henri seems to have a bit of a grudge against Cuddy for how easy her pregnancy was compared to Henri's. While Cuddy wasn't sick, wasn't in pain and was as happy as a clam. Henri, on the other hand, still throws up from time to time and can't be in the same room as tuna, my scotch, or guacamole. She's been having insane mood swings and back pain and swollen ankles. I, of course, get the brunt of her complaints and whining.

She's big and uncomfortable and doesn't want to be pregnant anymore. The entire baby thing still freaking her out, but I think she's slowly warming to it. Finally. She's having a good day today, and from my encouragement, I think I've almost gotten her feeling sexy. I do find her sexy, very sexy.

She's been trying to hold back asking her OB what the sex is, but she's great at ruining surprises. She tried to surprise me on my birthday last year, but ended up telling me what we were doing two days ahead of time. I'm surprised she hasn't given in and asked or badgered me into looking at the sonogram and telling her. I myself have tried not to look too closely at the sonograms. I want to know, I don't understand the whole surprise thing, but I know that if I knew, I'd slip up and ruin it for her.

The screw I'm holding slips from my grip and two of the sides of the crib go crashing down. I curse loudly and almost throw the screwdriver into a wall. Wilson starts to laugh at me and so I think of a better thing to do with this screwdriver.

Henri is standing in the door, her big belly peeking out from the hem of her t-shirt. She says I have to let Wilson help him, as he seems to have more crib assembly experience than I do. She's right and as much as I want to get this done myself, I'm tired of it and I hand the tool over to Wilson. She smiles at me and waddles away.

Henri goes straight into nesting mode the moment she sees the crib standing in the bedroom, finished but empty. Wilson, Cuddy and I watch _Mythbusters_, a show that I hope will one day will result in and actually show a serious injury.

Henri's nesting will eventually get out of control, I can see it. Cuddy is a control freak, but I don't doubt her sanity. Wilson used to belabor me with tales of how Cuddy disassembled furniture, cabinets and anything else she could get her hands on. She emptied the fridge and cabinets, cleaned them and put them back in order twice, pained the baby's room three times and couldn't stop arranging the baby clothes. I know for a fact that Henri will be a lot worse. She's a control freak and she's absolutely insane; I say this with a great amount of love.

When I make a crack about her rearranging the entire building, she rolls her eyes and steals my sandwich. I glare at her, but I know she's in for a surprise. It's a Reuben, and she hates Reubens. She gives it back and grimaces as she chews and swallows. I start to tell her off, but Wilson hushes me because his kid's asleep.

Wilson has made a seamless transition into fatherhood. He's like one of those guys women hope they end up with, the kind of guy who will proudly display macaroni art and go to every school function and play catch in the back yard. I always knew that if it ever happened, he'd be a pretty good dad. He's got morals and a conscience, things I lack.

Cuddy is the same way. After years of trying and failing, she's finally gotten everything she's ever wanted and she cherishes it. She looks at her son like he's the Holy Grail and I wonder if Henri will ever look that way. I wonder if either of us will ever look that way.

I can only hope that Henri and I can eventually get there.


	46. Chapter 46

I'm twenty five today. I have mere days before I go into labor and I feel like a planet. I thought I was big when I was seven months along, but I seriously underestimated things. I'm heavy and slow and huge and I'm so tired of being pregnant. I've had a false alarm already; I can't believe it was just heartburn. I can't sleep anymore because I'm so big, I can't get comfortable. I've been told to sleep on my left side for blood flow reasons, but no matter what side I'm on, I'm miserable.

It's early June, but it's already sweltering. I have the air conditioning on high and I hate leaving the house because the moment I walk out into the heat, I'm drenched in sweat; it doesn't help that I'm schlepping around an extra thirty pounds and walking is quite an exertion. The discomfort of this whole thing is unbelievable; I never thought I could be this uncomfortable for this long.

I'm lying down in bed on my side, staring at the wall. I'm too tired to do anything else, but too uncomfortable to fall asleep. The shades are drawn and the entire room is like a cave. House comes in quietly and I reach my hand out and take his in mine as he passes the bed. He stoops down to kiss my hand and sits on the floor, his back against the bed. He gets his acoustic guitar and starts playing.

He's playing me love songs; he plays me old favorites like the Beatles, and he plays me things I've introduced him to like the Avett Brothers. He hated their twangy bluegrass/country sound at first, but as he listened and dissected the layers of it, he grew to love it. The room is quiet except for the plucking of the guitar strings and has an atmosphere of complete peace.

He gets into bed with me and holds me, my back pressed into his chest. He runs his hand over my belly in slow, lazy circles and he kisses my neck and my ear. He laces his fingers with mine and tells me that he loves me and I feel like this is the most perfect moment on earth right now.

He says we need to take advantage of today because it will probably be the last night out before the baby. He's made reservations at my favorite Italian restaurant and if I can just get up he promises we'll have a good time. I'm not in the mood to move, but the idea of some fettuccini alfredo is too tempting to pass on.

He gets up and grabs both my hands and hoists me up to my feet. He grabs his leg, as I'm sure yanking up this much weight wasn't good for him. I dress in a simple black dress with thin straps and a v-neckline. My feet are swollen so all I can manage for shoes is a pair of black flats. I put on a simple silver necklace and my stud diamond earrings. House looks good in a suit, sans tie.

We're eating and it's heaven; nice, quiet dinner, just the two of us, with some amazing food. I get a glass of red wine, my first one since I found out I was pregnant. The wine combined with my pasta is incredible and I wonder how I made it this long without wine. To think that the nights of going out to dinner or lying around the apartment in silence, getting drunk by five on a Tuesday evening are all about to come to an end is scary. As tired as I am of being pregnant, I'm terrified by what will happen once I'm no longer pregnant.

For a gift, he's gotten me a day at the spa for tomorrow. I'm getting a manicure, pedicure, a facial, a wax and a special massage for pregnant women. I'm also getting a haircut out of the deal and it sounds amazing. This is exactly what I need so I can stop feeling disgusting for a while; I couldn't have imagined a better present

Many may think Greg House is a thoughtless, selfish asshole who cares about no one but himself and his own gain. I know better. Beyond that tough, scaly exterior is the best man I've ever known.

xXxXx

Henri is twenty five today. She's getting older, but I still feel like a cradle robber and I love it. I have a beautiful young wife who is more than half my age and it turns me on. We have mere days before she goes into labor and she's huge. She feels like a whale and I guess I can understand that; she's at her nine month mark and she's as big as she could possibly get. She feels heavy and she's getting slow, waddling like a lumbering bear.

She can't sleep anymore because she's gotten so big and she can't get comfortable. I told her to sleep on her left side because it improves circulation to the heart and allows for the best blood flow to the baby, the uterus, and kidneys. No matter what side she's on, however, she's miserable. I'm also miserable because all night she's tossing and turning, hefting her weight around and disturbing my sleep.

It's early June, but it's a very hot June. We have the air conditioning on high all the time and it's a little cold, but I dare not say anything. Henri hasn't left the house in a week because the moment she walks out into the heat, she's drenched in sweat; it doesn't help that she's carring an extra thirty pounds of weight.

I come home from work early and I know she's exactly where I left her: lying in bed in complete darkness, staring at the wall. She's too tired to get up, but she's too uncomfortable to sleep. I walk into the bedroom quietly, hoping I don't disturb her, and she's awake and reaches out and takes my hand as I pass the bed. I kiss her hand and sit on the floor, my back against the bed. I start playing my guitar for her.

I play her love songs because that's what I'm feeling. The feeling in the room is one of complete, tired, lazy calm and it makes me feel incredible love for her. I play songs I know she likes, songs I know have lyrics that mean something. I don't sing; she's the singer, but she hears the music and knows exactly which songs they are and she knows every word.

I put down the guitar and get into bed with her and I hold her, her back pressed into my chest. I love to hold her; it makes me feel like I'm protecting her. I run my hand over her belly, feeling the baby beneath my hand. The baby is starting to descend lower into the pelvis; it won't be long now. I hold her hand and I tell her that I love her and I feel like this is the most perfect moment on the planet.

I remind her that we should take advantage of today because it'll probably be the last night out before the baby. The next few days are going to be tense and stressful and we won't want to go out for fear of her going into labor. I'm not looking forward to the labor aspect of this whole thing; Henri doesn't do well with discomfort and unless we do a c-section, she'll want all the drugs in the world and will still be uncomfortable.

I've made reservations at her favorite Italian restaurant and if she can just get herself up, we'll have a good time. I've told her she can have a glass of wine with dinner if she wants and she's excited about it.

I get up and I grab both of her hands and I heave her up onto her feet. I grab my leg, in pain, the stress of stiffening my body for her weight too much for my leg. She dresses in a black dress with a v-neckline and her breasts are popping out, overflowing out of her bra and just begging to be grabbed or motor boated. I push the thought aside and help her into her shoes, the bulk of her belly too big for her to bend over and slip them on.

When we get to the restaurant and get our food, I can tell Henri is happy we came out. She's sipping her wine, eating her pasta and she's glowing. I'm proud of her for not having wine more often. It's okay for a pregnant woman to have a glass of wine once in a while, but she hasn't had a drop of alcohol since she found out she was pregnant. I watch her put a forkful of her pasta in her mouth and her eyes close in happiness. She follows it up with a sip of wine and watching her smile, so happy about such a simple thing, and it makes me happy that I'm just here to witness her smile.

For a gift, I've gotten her a day at the spa for tomorrow, while I'm at work. Wilson gave me the idea, as he did the same thing for Cuddy when she was near her due date. I doubt I could have thought of this on my own. She's happy about it and that's what matters. She deserves to feel good and feel beautiful, especially when she's about to go into labor any day.

Many think I'm an inconsiderate, selfish bastard who cares about nothing and no one but myself. The one thing I really do care about is her happiness. Her happiness makes me happier than anything ever has or ever will.


	47. Chapter 47

We're having hot, furious, needy, urgent, passionate sex. I'm on my side and he's behind me, one hand on my hip. I feel my lower belly coil up and when it reaches its apex, I have an earth-shattering orgasm and bring House along with me. He shouts out and his fingers tighten and in the aftermath, we lie there panting, covered in sweat.

After a few minutes, he asks me if anything's happening. Disappointingly, no. I'm four days overdue and we're trying to induce labor. My OB tells me that if I don't go into labor in the next few days, we'll have to induce. I'm so tired of being pregnant and I just want this all to happen. I'm still scared about motherhood and I'm not completely sure I'm ready for the baby to come, but if I don't get un-pregnant soon, I might die.

I get up and walk around the apartment and nothing happens. I don't feel any contractions, my water hasn't broken. I lost my mucus plug a couple weeks ago, but that's all. I've been taking long walks every day and still, nothing. House is confused, wondering why I just haven't seemed to have a contraction or anything. He suggests nipple stimulation, wagging his eyebrows, but I roll my eyes. He already did that and now he's just trying to get another round of sex.

He has to go to work, so he showers and gives me a kiss before telling me to call him the moment something happens. I shower and dress and go into nesting mode again. I've cleaned the apartment every day for a week and I'm still not satisfied. I scrub the bathroom from top to bottom, scouring the bathtub and sink and toilet with bleach. I have to stop every few minutes because this strenuous work and bending over with this huge belly is killing my back.

After cleaning the apartment and refolding and rearranging the baby clothes, I go for a long walk. It's slow going and I think people are scared of me when they see me because of how big I am. I can't fit into any of my shirts and my belly hangs out. I'm tired, but I push on, determined to walk until I go into labor. When it's obvious it isn't going to happen, I turn and go home.

I walk into the apartment and struggle to kick off my shoes and walk into the kitchen. I pick up a glass and fill it with water and I turn to go lie down on the couch and watch TV until House gets home; he should be back in about two hours.

I look up and the glass slides from my hand and crashes onto the floor and I feel my socks get wet. My heart is pounding and I feel like crying and throwing up. Tritter is standing in the doorway, a gun pointed at my face. His face is hard and stern and a warning to me, to not fuck with him. He hasn't shaved in a long time and there's something in his eyes that tells me he's changed; it's not a good change.

I feel wetness in my pants and I know my water just broke. The liquid soaks into the fabric of my pants and I feel almost embarrassed, like a little girl that just wet her pants. His voice is deep and gravelly and sinister when he says hello to me. Tears leak out of my eyes and my lips tremble and I whimper.

He approaches me and I wince and he grabs my upper arm and drags me into the bathroom. He tells me that if I don't do exactly what he says, he'll shoot me right in the stomach and I sob. He tells me that I can scream all I like, as he told the neighbors not to pay attention, as I'd decided to have a home birth.

I don't know what to think. Am I about to die? Has he come back to finish the job he started? I feel what I think is a contraction and I sink down and sit on the edge of the tub. I put a hand to my belly and it feels like a menstrual cramp on a bad day, but it doesn't last long. I'm terrified and I don't know whether to do as he says or try to pull something on him. I take one look at him, at the dark barrel of the gun in his hand and I know I have no chance.

He tells me that my husband and I are going to pay for all the pain he's caused me and I have an awful sense of dread.

xXxXx

We're having hot, furious, needy, urgent, passionate sex. I'm clutching Henri's hip and I'm trying my hardest to get her to reach orgasm before I do. She finally has an intense orgasm just as I think I can't hold on any longer and I come soon after, pressing my fingers hard into her hip. We lie there, holding each other, panting and covered in sticky sweat. We're both satisfied, but we were here to accomplish a goal.

After a few minutes, I ask her if anything's happening. She's four days overdue and we're trying to induce labor. I'm hoping that after an orgasm like that, there will be enough oxytocin floating around that it'll contract her uterus and she'll go into labor. Her OB tells us that if she doesn't go into labor in the next few days, we'll have to induce. Henri is tired of being pregnant and just wants to get it over with; I don't know why we don't just induce now, but Henri tells me to shut up and just do what we're told for once. I'm tired of this whole pregnancy thing and as scared as I am about fatherhood, as completely unready as I am, I can't wait for it to be over.

She gets up and walks around the apartment and still nothing happens; she doesn't feel any contractions and her water doesn't break. She lost her mucus plug a couple weeks ago, something that freaked her out but didn't mean much, but that's all that's happened. She takes long walks every day and still, nothing. I'm frustrated, wondering why this just hasn't seemed to have happened yet. I want to go another round and so I suggest nipple stimulation, another labor inducer, but she rolls her eyes at me. Damn.

I have to go to work, so I shower and give her a kiss before telling her to call me the moment something happens. I'm always waiting for the phone to ring and sometimes I sit in my office, staring at it as it sits on my desk, silent. I'm not quite ready for all of this, for the diaper changing and the midnight feedings and the shrill cries only infants have.

Cuddy is trying to get me to do my employee reviews before I go on paternity leave and I'm zipping around the hospital, trying to avoid her. I'm getting two months of leave from the hospital, beginning the day Henri goes into labor and I can't wait for it to happen.

Wilson and I sit in an exam room, watching a game of soccer between Manchester United and the Blackburn Rovers and eating burritos. He wants to know how Henri is; he tries to keep informed of any updates and I let him know that we had sex, but even my enormous, powerful penis can't induce Henri. Wilson rolls his eyes and says that the kid is turning out to be like me already; stubborn and only willing to do something on its own terms.

I get through the day and finally it's time to go and I've avoided Cuddy successfully, despite Wilson's attempt to get me productive by snitching and letting our location be known. I get on the motorcycle, hoping that Henri will go into labor sometime within the next few hours.

I walk in and I hear Henri groan in what I think is pain and I hope she's having contractions. The bedroom is empty, so I go into the bathroom and my stomach drops. Tritter is sitting on a stool, his back against the wall, a gun in his hand. He smiles and says hello to me and I can see he's a changed man; there's something in his eyes that makes me afraid. Tritter never scared me before.

Henri is sitting in the bath tub, her hands on her stomach, her eyes red with tears. When she sees me, she starts crying and reaches her hand out to me. I take it and I kneel down and kiss her knuckles.

Tritter tells me that I'd better not try anything or he'd shoot Henri in the stomach. Something inside me tells me that for once, I'd better follow directions. He tells me to throw the cane into the hallway and sit on the floor. I do what he says and he smiles and says it's a nice change to have me actually do what I'm told. There's something sinister in his voice and I know I'm in a nightmare that isn't going to end.


	48. Chapter 48

A contraction takes hold of me and I cry out. It's like a menstrual cramp magnified a thousand times. It's been three hours and my contractions are about four or five minutes apart. House is sitting on the floor, timing them; he has nothing else to do.

Tritter is exacting his revenge in an incredibly twisted way. Instead of killing us, instead of shooting us or beating us, he is leaving us to our pain. He tells us that we're going to sit here, both of us in pain, me in labor and House without Vicodin. He tells us that we have to experience this pain so we know the pain we've caused him. I'm going to give birth in my bath tub if something doesn't happen.

It's hot; Tritter has turned off the air conditioning. He's sitting there in an undershirt, sipping a glass of water. I'm sweating and my mouth is dry. I've taken off my shirt and am sitting in the tub in my sports bra and some shorts, but it's still too hot to move. House has also taken off his blazer and button-down. He's okay right now, having taken some pills right before he left the hospital, but in a few hours he's going to be in agony.

He starts to get up and Tritter raises the gun and asks where he thinks he's going. House tells him that although we might not be allowed to go to a hospital, he has to check the progress of my labor. He tells me to take my shorts off and tells Tritter to keep his eyes to himself. Tritter says not to worry, he'd rather not stare at a cow. I'm in too much discomfort to think about that comment.

I'm four centimeters dilated; I have six to go and I don't know how much more of this I can handle. I'm terrified; a rogue ex-cop with a vendetta against us has a gun pointed at us, is holding us hostage and I'm in labor. I should be in the hospital right now, with pain medication and doctors and nurses and sterility and fetal monitors. He feels my belly, feeling the position of the baby and he climbs back out of the tub and sits on the floor, leaning his back against the side.

I have another contraction and he holds my hand tightly. Tritter sits there, looking at us with a contemplative gaze. He asks me how I could have procreated with a man like House; an addict, a disrespectful and immoral lawbreaker? I tell him that House is twenty times the man that he is; he might not seem like it, but he cares for me and provides for me and we understand each other; we're the same type of person. He chuckles at this.

He details how our addictions are going to spiral out of control and our child will end up in a foster home and we'll be a couple of junkies who've lost everything. He tells me that he saw me when I bought the coke, saw me in the window when I was using. He saw us when we drank, when I smoked weed, when House popped pills and injected morphine. He's been stalking us for months, watching our every move and calculating his strike.

The fact that he's been watching us, seeing everything we do, sends chills down my spine. I tell him he's insane, dedicating his time to something so trivial and ridiculous. I tell him that he's become everything that he's always fought against just for revenge. Thinking he's probably a god-fearing man, I tell him that wrath is a sin.

He laughs and says that I have no business talking about sin. Drinking, drugs, immorality… all things he's seen in me in the past year. He says that the things we do in bed and how often we do them are perfect examples of how depraved I am. He tells me I'll never be a good mother with the way I live my life.

I'm gripped by another contraction and I cry out and rub the lower part of my belly, where the cramps are at their most intense. House tells Tritter that he's become everything he hates; he's torturing people for his own personal satisfaction; even House doesn't stoop that low. He starts talking about what Tritter's parents must think about him, what they would think if they could see him now. He goes on and on and I can tell Tritter is getting pissed.

When House starts asking whether Tritter's father was proud of him or thought he was a little bitch who couldn't take a punch, Tritter stands and pistol whips him in the face. I let out a shriek as House's head is snapped back. His lip is split and he gingerly fingers at it and looks at the blood before he looks up at Tritter and smiles. He's hit a nerve and now he knows exactly what his weaknesses are and will use them to his advantage.

Tritter sits back down and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to get a hold of himself. There's a rage inside him that's bubbling to the surface and I fear what might happen if it's unleashed.

xXxXx

Henri is sitting in our bath tub, gritting her teeth against a contraction. I've been timing them and they're about four minutes apart and have been for a while. We should be on the phone with her OB, telling him to be aware that he needs to meet us at PPTH. Instead, we're stuck in our bathroom with an insane ex-cop.

My lip is killing me, having been hit by Tritter's gun. After a little rooting around, I've discovered exactly what unhinges him. Although she may not know it, Henri's probing helped me get there. I think with enough time, I can get us out of this. I have to at least get Henri out of this. She can't give birth in a bath tub; not only is this not a sterile environment, we have no access to pain medication or surgical tools in the event she needs an episiotomy or, worse, a c-section. I don't need to be forced to perform an episiotomy on my wife with a razor blade and no pain meds.

Tritter is hitting us where it hurts; instead of killing us and putting us out of our misery, he's ensuring our misery. He's trying to make sure we understand the pain we've caused him. I haven't had a Vicodin in almost five hours and my leg is starting to ache. I'm going to be barely functional in a few hours and Henri needs me; she's about to be in much more pain that me.

It's hot; Tritter turned off the air conditioning. He's sitting there in the luxury of an undershirt and light linen pants, sipping a glass of ice water. I'm sweating and Henri is drenched, due to the heat and her size and the exertion of dealing with her contractions. She needs some ice cubes so she doesn't get too dehydrated, but I doubt we'll get that luxury.

It's late at night and Henri will need some sleep if she's going to be able to get through this. If she had pain meds, she'd be able to manage a few hours of sleep, but without them, she's going to be miserable and exhausted.

I shout at him, telling him to grab her some ice and I gather all the towels we have in preparation for later; for the messy part. I'm thankful for Henri's OCD the last few weeks; I know the towels have been bleached and so has the tub, which is better than nothing.

Henri starts crying and I turn my head to see her. She's not having a contraction, but she's frightened more than she ever has been. She's sobbing and puts her face in her hands and I get up. Tritter points the gun at me and I tell him to fuck off. I make Henri move up a little and I settle in behind her, my legs on either side of her and she leans against my chest.

I hold her as she cries, trying to comfort her. How can you comfort someone when you're being held captive and your future and your child's future is unknown? All I know is that if anything happens to Henri or the baby, I will tear Tritter apart with my bare hands. Henri is everything to me and my protective instinct is kicking in; my child is about to enter the world and I don't want anything happening before it happens.

I put my hands on her belly and I feel it tighten as she has another contraction. She presses her face into my neck and sobs, her whole body tensing. The contractions are getting closer together and soon she'll have to start pushing and things are going to get much, much worse.

My leg is killing me and I'm about to lose it. I'm trying to keep my control for Henri because she needs me to be here, but I know things are going to get ugly in the next few hours. I need my pills, I need to be on my A-game so I can be a doctor and a husband for my wife. I need to make sure that things don't go wrong and if they do, I need to be able to fix it.

I'm not sure how we're going to survive this.


	49. Chapter 49

My contractions are intense and I have an awful need to push. I'm covered in a sheen of sweat and the pain feels like it could tear me apart. Tritter is just sitting there, staring at me. He's happy because of the pain I'm in, he thinks I deserve it all.

I feel the urge to push and I'm on my feet, bearing down and I shriek as the pain rips through me and nothing happens. I'm crying because I've been in labor for almost fourteen hours and I'm finally toward the end, the painful end. I sit back down and lean against the back of the tub and I'm panting from the exertion.

House is sitting on the floor, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. The past ten hours have been unbearable. He's been at Tritter's throat and he's been trying to keep his rage away from me, but he's snapped at me quite a few times. He hasn't had Vicodin in an entire day and he's hung over and in pain. He tips over and lies down on the floor and growls, clutching at his leg.

I'm sure Tritter is enjoying every second of this. I feel like I could pass out from this; I haven't been able to sleep at all because of the contractions and the uncomfortable, hard bath tub. With another contraction comes the need to push and I rock myself back up onto my feet, squatting, and push down as hard as I can.

I don't feel like I've gotten any farther and I say that I'm thirsty; I'm dehydrated and exhausted and I just need something to drink. House looks at Tritter and starts shouting at him, telling him to get his ass up and get me some ice. I think about ice, about how cold and wet and wonderful it would be right now and in my frustration I scream at him to get me ice.

It's been a long, hot few hours and Tritter is sweating and I think between that, the exhaustion and House's verbal abuse are wearing him down. He gets up and walks toward the kitchen. House, sweating and with circles under his eyes, looks at me and tells me he loves me. I know he's about to do something and I tell him I love him too.

He gets up and limps away and I'm afraid I'll never see him again. I'm pushing again, screeching at the top of my lungs because I think I'm going to be split in half by the excruciating pain. I hear a scuffle out in the hallway and the gun goes off and I start screaming even though I'm not pushing, but out of sheer terror. If something has happened to House, I don't know what I'll do.

To my relief, he comes back into the room, looking tired and panting. He tells me he jumped him, they struggled with the gun and a shot went into the wall. He knocked Tritter out and I see that he still has the gun in his hand. I'm so relieved but the hard part is ahead of me.

House pops a couple Vicodin and gets into the tub with me. He tells me I just need a few pushes and the baby will come and I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'm tired and in pain and I don't even want to move, let alone push. I feel the urge again and I grab both of his hands and squeeze them tightly and I use all of my strength to push and I feel the baby moving.

He tells me he can see the head and I reach down and I can feel it, I know I'm almost there. He urges me to push, yells at me that I need to keep going and I shout back that I'm doing what I can. I sob and push harder and I can feel intense pressure and it all tears away and I'm screaming and push as hard as I can with every fiber of strength that I have left and all of a sudden I feel emptiness and I sit back and there's a sudden relief.

I'm exhausted and sticky and weak and I close my eyes because I don't think I can stay awake any longer. I'm crying and I hear the cries of the baby and House sets the baby on my chest and he rises up and kisses me, holding my face in his hands and brushing my hair from my face.

I can hear sirens outside and I'm so happy and I wail in relief and pain and fatigue. I never thought I would live through this.

xXxXx

My leg is killing me and I don't think I can take much more. I need something to take the edge off, but I won't have anything anytime soon. Tritter is just sitting there, staring at me. He's happy because of the pain I'm in, he thinks I deserve it all. Maybe I do, but Henri sure as hell doesn't deserve any of it.

She's at the end of her labor and she's starting to feel the urge to push and her screeching cuts me to the bone. I'm lying on the floor, my cheek resting on the cool tiles and I'm trying to steel myself against my pain.

I have to do something to protect my family and myself. I have very little strength, the pain draining me, but I know I have to get up and do something. If Henri doesn't get immediate medical attention after the birth, she could bleed out or something could happen to the baby. The bathroom isn't sterile enough for something like this and bacteria could ruin everything.

Henri, in a weak voice, asks for some water. She hasn't had anything more than some sips of lukewarm water I've gotten from the sink in my cupped hands. She's dehydrated and she's been in labor for hours and she needs water. Her body has been working hard and she's tired. Something needs to be done. She needs help if she's going to get through this next part. I hear her move and she's pushing and she's groaning with the intensity of the pain and the pressure.

I start shouting at him to get her some ice to chew on. It's been a long, hot few hours and Tritter is sweating and I think between that, the exhaustion and my verbal abuse are wearing him down. He gets up and walks toward the kitchen. Now's the time for me to make my move.

I look at Henri and I tell her I love her in case this is the last time I'll get the opportunity to tell her. I limp down the hallway as quietly as I can; every step is agony and I can barely put any weight down on my right leg. He's at the counter with his back to me, getting a cup prepared. He thinks we're both so incapacitated by our pain that we can't do anything.

I use all of my strength to tackle him to the floor. The gun skitters across the floor and we struggle against each other, trying to prevent the other from reaching the gun first. My fingertips go into his left eye socket and he growls in pain. I grab the gun in both hands and go to turn it on him, but he's on top of me again, both of us clutching at the gun. We shoot a round into the wall and I get my body in a position where I can knee him in the groin and I elbow him in the nose.

Tritter's grip on the gun loosens and I'm able to pry myself away from him and I bash him over the head with the gun as hard as I can. His eyes widen in surprise and he goes limp, unconscious. I take a second to take a breather and I look up on the counter: my pills sit next to my cane and I feel like this is a gift from the universe.

I slowly pull myself to my feet and I pocket the pills, grab my cane and hobble into the hallway. I hear a screech as Henri pushes; the baby is coming any second and there's no time to look for a phone to call 911. I just have to hope that the next door neighbors heard the gunshot and called the police.

I get to the bathroom and Henri is lying back, panting and sweaty, her hair stuck to her face. I tell her what happened and take a couple Vicodin. I should be feeling much better soon. I get into the tub and I grab her knees and look. I don't see much, so I check her and she's almost there. I can feel the baby's head with my hand and I tell her she needs to push just a few more times.

She's so tired and thirsty and frightened and I can see she barely has any strength left for this. She grabs both of my hands and squeezes tightly, almost too much for me to bear, and she pushes as hard as she can. Her screams are high-pitched and nerve-grating, but she's crowning and I can't imagine what pain she's in.

She stops and she's losing the will to continue. I tell her I see the head and she reaches down and she can feel it and the look on her face is one of frustration. I urge her to push, I haven't any patience left and she just needs to do this so it'll all be over. She's yelling back at me that she's trying her hardest, doing what she can. She sobs and starts pushing again, a shriek erupting from her the likes of which I've never heard.

I put my hands out as she pushes and I catch our child, this beautiful thing that we created together. I hold the baby in a towel and soon cries of both the baby and Henri fill the room. I have this feeling that I can't explain and it feels like my heart is swelling out of wonder and love and amazement. I'm so relieved and I hold my child in my arms, this child that I helped bring into the world.

I set the baby on Henri's chest and I rise up and take her damp face in my hands and I kiss her. I brush the hair from her face and I look into her tired, teary eyes and I can barely understand the feelings inside me. I hear sirens outside and I'm so relieved that we've lived through this. The heat and the pain and the terror are about to come to an end and when the police storm into the apartment, I'm actually happy to see law enforcement for the first time in my life.


	50. Chapter 50

Born June 14, we name her Ella Marie House, Marie for my mother and Ella for Ella Fitzgerald, an influential jazz singer that both House and I admire. At 7 lbs, 8 oz, she's perfect.

Tritter was brought into the police station and will be held without bail on charges of torture, unrightful imprisonment, and assault, among other charges. Both House and I are treated for dehydration and I'm stitched up and given two units of blood. I'm so thankful that we're all okay and we got out of this alive.

House has recovered fully and sits in a chair across from my hospital bed, cradling Ella in his arms. He's looking down at her with amazement and love and adoration. It's a perfect picture that makes my heart melt.

He rises and brings her to me and I take her in my arms and look down at her tiny face. She's beautiful and precious and tiny and I can't believe she entered this world safe and sound. A nurse comes in with a bottle and hands it to me, asking if I'd like to try breast feeding today. I'm not sure how keen I am about the whole breast feeding thing. I understand that it's the natural thing to do, but something about it freaks me out. I decline, for now.

Ella takes the bottle and I'm simply in love as I look down at her. House puts an arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple and rests his cheek on top of my head. After a moment, I look up and Wilson is standing in the doorway, smiling.

He walks in and says it's a pretty picture and House tells him he just ruined it with his presence. He asks if we're okay and I tell him we're fine now. He comes to the bed and looks down and tells us she's beautiful and I hand her over. Wilson holds her in his arms and smiles. House tells him if he drops her, he'll murder him and I know Wilson could never drop her. He holds her expertly and says he remembers when Aaron was that small like it was yesterday; now he's walking.

Over the course of the day, we're visited by Chase and Cameron, Taub and his wife, Thirteen, and Kutner. Foreman comes in, looking reluctant to be here, but I smile at him and ask him if he wants to hold the baby. House warns him not to cast any of his black magic on our baby, and Foreman gives him his signature 'screw off' look. He holds Ella for a few minutes, looking slightly uncomfortable, and congratulates us before going back to work.

My father and House's mother are on their way down after the news of the hostage situation and Ella's birth; they're waiting for us at the apartment. I'm sore and House helps me ease into the wheelchair and a nurse hands the baby to me.

I hold her close to me as I'm wheeled out of the hospital. We leave the flowers and the balloons in the hospital room; we have no need for that stuff. House drives us home slowly, as if the fragility of an infant is compromised by driving too quickly. I make fun of him for it and call him an old man and he scoffs and says he just doesn't want to get into an accident; people are shitty drivers.

I have to carry her inside; the car seat is too heavy and awkward for House to carry. I'm met with the sight of my father, who smiles broadly and hugs House tightly, much to his dismay. I set Ella down on the couch and my father immediately goes and unbuckles her and takes her in his arms. He looks down at her with grandfatherly love and says he wishes my mother was here to see this, my first child and I wish that, too. I try not to dwell on it too much.

Blythe comes in from the kitchen, looking flustered and excited. She's been reheating one of the many casseroles I made in preparation for the baby. She hugs me and House, kissing him on the cheek and tears come to her eyes. She says she never thought she'd ever see the day that she'd have a grandchild. My father passes Ella over to her grandmother and she rocks her back and forth, smiling.

House looks like he's embarrassed by his mother's enthusiasm but I think he's secretly glad she's here; Dr. Gregory House, being of sound mind and body, loves his mommy. I sit down on the couch and lie back and watch the exchange between my father, my mother in-law and my husband.

House looks lovingly at his daughter and his mother comments that she looks like he did when he was a baby; concentrated expression, big blue eyes. She also says that House kept her awake for six months straight and I'm praying that this isn't the case with Ella.

xXxXx

I hold my daughter in my arms and I can't help but stare at her in wonder. Ella Marie House, perfect weight, perfect length, perfect face. Part of me was scared that she would come out with something wrong because of who I am; I never expected to have a child, let alone such a perfect child. There's nothing wrong with her and it seems strange but thrilling.

We named her for Henri's mother, logical considering her untimely death and her influence in Henri's life, and for Ella Fitzgerald, an incredibly influential jazz singer and one of my favorite musical artists that ever lived.

Tritter, that piece of shit, suffered a fractured skull after what I did to him and it serves him right. He's being held without bail on several charges and he deserves every year they give him. After our ordeal, Henri and I were both treated for dehydration and Henri had to be treated for tears and blood loss because of the lack of medical assistance while she was giving birth to this beautiful creature in my arms.

I never expected to feel such an intense love for this little girl, my daughter, this little part of me, so soon. The second I caught her in my hands as Henri gave birth to her, I was in love. I'm an angry, curmudgeonly, addicted, selfish old man and yet I would stop the world for my baby.

I look to my wife, the bravest, most beautiful person I've ever known, and she smiles at me weakly. I struggle to my feet, awkward because when I hold Ella it's hard to use my cane, and I bring her over to Henri. I place the baby gently into her arms and I see Henri's face light up and soften as she holds this tiny baby that we created together. I still can't get over it all.

A nurse comes in with a bottle and asks Henri if she'd like to try breast feeding and after a moment, Henri declines. She's not quite sure about the whole breast-feeding thing. She should do it because for the first six months of a baby's life, its immune system is from the mother through breast milk, but I won't force her into it. She's freaked out about it and thinks it's going to hurt and make her breasts saggy.

She feeds Ella the bottle and I'm simply in love as I look down at her. I can't believe we've all survived, but I'm so glad we did. I put an arm around Henri's shoulders and I kiss her temple and rest my cheek on top of her head. I've never known this kind of love and it's thrilling and frightening and yet it's like a high that I can't come down from.

I'm broken from my thoughts by Wilson's voice, saying that it's a pretty picture. I look up, irritated that he's here, bringing me back down to reality, and I tell him that he just ruined it with his presence. He asks if we're okay and Henri smiles and says we're fine now and I think we're more than fine.

He approaches the hospital bed and looks down at my daughter and tells us she's beautiful. I know she's beautiful; how could I create anything less than beautiful? The idea that I have a beautiful daughter is a strange and wonderful thought.

Henri hands Ella to Wilson and he smiles that stupid smile he reserves only for babies and Cuddy. I warn him that if he drops my kid, I'll murder him and bury the pieces all over the state of New Jersey. Wilson could never drop her; he has that "dad gene." He holds her like a pro and says he remembers when Aaron was that small and now the kid's walking.

We're visited by my colleagues, Chase and Cameron, Taub and his wife, Thirteen, and Kutner. Foreman comes in, looking reluctant to be here, but Henri smiles at him and asks if he wants to hold the baby. I warn him not to cast any black magic on my daughter and Foreman gives me that look that says he would hit me if he could. He holds Ella for a while before going back to work like he should.

Henri's father and my mother are on their way down after the news of Ella's birth; they're waiting for us at the apartment. Henri is sore and doesn't want to move, but I help her into the wheelchair as best as I can and the nurse hands her the baby.

I want nothing more than to be able to wheel Henri out of the hospital, but I'm a cripple and I can't do it myself. She's holding our daughter in her arms and the little smushy face eases my frustration. I drive us home and I don't want to go faster than 25. For some strange reason, the fact that my baby is in the car makes me more cautious on the road. Henri calls me out on it, making fun of me, but I tell her I don't want to get into an accident; people are shitty drivers.

Henri has to carry the baby inside despite her fragile state and that also irritates me. The car seat is too heavy and awkward for me to carry in my state and I wish to the Flying Spaghetti Monster that I was capable of carrying my own child into the house so my wife didn't have to.

Bob, her father, greets us with open arms and he hugs me for the first time in our son in-law, father in-law relationship and I'm a little uncomfortable. Henri sets Ella down on the couch and her father lifts her from the carrier and takes her in his arms. He looks down at her, smiling, glowing, in love; I understand this for the first time in my life. He says something about Henri's mother and I see the sober look on Henri's face when she acknowledges the lack of her mother's presence. She tries her best not to think about these things too much, but throughout her pregnancy she's wondered how she could cope without her mom.

My mother comes out from the kitchen, looking excited. She's apparently been reheating one of the twenty casseroles Henri made in preparation for the baby. She hugs Henri and myself, kissing me on the cheek and tears come to her eyes. It makes me uncomfortable to see her cry, no matter the situation, and she tells me she thought she'd never see the day that she'd have a grandchild. She takes Ella from my father in-law and she rocks her back and forth, smiling.

I'm a little embarrassed by my mother's enthusiasm because I'm not sure how to handle it; I've never seen her this way and it's strange. I love my mother and I'm glad that she's here because I've never had to deal with an infant for a long period of time. Henri sits on the couch and lies back, watching us and I love that she's taking a moment to relax.

I look down at my daughter, in love like I never have been, and my mother tells me she looks like me as a baby; I must have been extremely good-looking. She says the concentrated expression and the big, blue eyes make her think of me. She also says that I kept her awake for six months straight and I'm praying that this isn't the case with Ella.


	51. Chapter 51

Ella wakes us up for the millionth time this week, and it's three in the morning. I start to cry, pushing my face into the pillow and House growls and gets up and makes his way to the crib. I hear him pick her up and talk to her softly.

I can't stand much more of this. I can't handle another sleepless week, another few days of being ripped from slumber by the shrill screams of an infant. Everyone told me that motherhood was going to be difficult, but this is insane. I need sleep.

In the darkness, I see House with our baby in his arms and he tries as best as he can to rock her to sleep as he limps around the room. He sees me, sees that I'm trying to stay asleep, and sneaks out the bedroom door in hopes that I'll be able to fall asleep once the crying baby is taken away from the equation.

I'm feeling like a bad person. Every time I hear Ella crying, I want to leave the room, leave the building, leave the town and the state and the country. I'm a mother and I should want to soothe my baby. Instead, I want to be far away from her and not have to deal with the feedings, the changing, the constant attention that an infant requires. My father left yesterday and Blythe is gone later today and I can't handle it.

House is so good with her, I can't believe it. I thought he would be grouchy and leave all the responsibility to me, but he's taken it all on due to my reluctance. He feeds her and changes her and holds her in his arms as he watches television or pours coffee or talks to his mother. He gets up with her at night and he talks to her and he loves her in a way I never thought he could.

I get up in the morning and Blythe is in the kitchen, making coffee, and House is asleep on the couch, Ella asleep on his chest. I'm feeling like a crusty, tired monster and I shuffle into the kitchen and make myself some coffee. Blythe smiles and says that House fell asleep about an hour ago. She's in disbelief of how seamlessly he's fallen into fatherhood, taking to it like a duck to water. I wish I was the same; my guilt and my depression and my anger are all bearing down on me and I think I'm an awful mother. I don't say this to her and instead I walk back into the bedroom and lie down for a while.

I have to get up when Blythe leaves. I try my best to put a happy face on as I thank her and wish her a safe trip. She hugs House and kisses Ella and when she's gone, the apartment feels like a prison.

House asks me to take the baby so he can take a quick nap and he hands her to me and goes into the bedroom. We keep a basket that we call the "Moses basket" by the couch in the event we're watching TV and the baby is awake. It looks like the kind of basket you'd drop a baby in before throwing it in the river, thus the name. I lay her down gently and turn on the TV and watch _Entourage_ episodes on the TiVo and pray she doesn't wake up.

After a few minutes, she starts to cry and I squeeze my eyes closed and take a breath so I don't scream. I pick her up and she needs a diaper change. I hate diaper changes; they're gross. I lay down a blanket and go to work, her shrieking getting louder as the air hits her butt; she hates being naked, hates being changed. As much as I hate doing this, I need to make sure she stops crying so House can get some sleep. He's gotten such little sleep in the past week, he deserves this.

Even when her diaper is changed and I feed her, she keeps crying. I walk around the apartment, holding her close to my chest and rocking her, trying to get her to stop. I sing to her, but my singing slowly becomes frustrated sobs and after what seems like an eternity, House comes out of the bedroom.

His hair is a mess and he's in rumpled pajamas and his eyes are squinty, having just been torn from sleep. Wordlessly, he takes her from me and holds her to his chest and after a second, she stops crying. I see this and I feel like an utter failure. He kisses my cheek and lies down on the couch with the baby resting on his chest and goes back to sleep.

Frustrated, upset and in tears, I go into the kitchen and pop open the bottle of champagne Gerri gave to me. I forget about the glass, go into the bedroom and drink it straight from the bottle until I'm too drunk to move and I cry myself to sleep.

xXxXx

Ella wakes up for the millionth time this week, and it's three in the morning. Henri starts to cry, as is her usual routine, and pushes her face into the pillow. She's been awful ever since we got home and I growl and get up and limp my way to the crib. I pick my daughter up and talk to her softly.

The cries drive me out of my mind, but every time I hear them I have a need to soothe her. Henri is becoming avoidant of her responsibilities and every time Ella cries, she finds something else to do instead. I think she's just surprised at how difficult motherhood really is. I'm hoping she isn't one of those post partum depression women, but she's heading in that direction.

I look in her direction and she's trying to pretend she's asleep, like she always does, and so I hobble out of the room, trying to rock Ella back to sleep. My mother is already up with a warm bottle for her.

I don't think we could have survived this first week without my mother and Henri's father. Bob left yesterday, which was too bad because he's a pro at this; after three of his own children and two grandchildren, he knew exactly what to do and how to do it. My mother, although not quite as experienced, is very enthusiastic about helping out with her grandchild.

I give Ella the bottle and limp into the living room. I still can't believe I have a baby. I look down at her, completely in love. I also never thought that I'd actually ever love anyone the way I love Ella; it's different from the way I love Henri, but just as intense.

Henri, however, doesn't seem to be feeling quite the same feelings I am. Every time the baby cries or needs a changing or feeding, she tries to avoid it like the plague. I know she feels badly about it, but she's young and wants to play things by ear and I don't blame her. Her life has become completely different and while I've somewhat taken to it, she hasn't. She doesn't want to deal with the constant attention an infant requires and she's dreading my mother's departure and even worse, my return to work in less than two months.

I'm good with Ella and I can't believe it. I thought I'd be grouchy and leave all responsibility to her, but I've taken it all on due to Henri's reluctance. I feed her and change her and hold her in my arms as I talk on the phone or heat up some food or read. I get up with her at night and love her in a way I never thought I could; I can't help it. The moment I look at her, I know I'd do anything for her. After walking around the apartment for hours, I fall asleep on the couch with Ella resting on my chest.

I wake up to Ella crying again, needing a bottle and a change. My mother takes care of it, a last minute gift before she leaves. Henri gets out of bed for this, and I can tell she's feeling badly. Her guilt and depression and anger are all bearing down on her and she thinks she's an awful mother. She just needs to get up and do it and she'll find it's not as terrible as she's making it out to be.

I ask Henri to take the baby so I can take a nap and get a few hours of sleep under my belt. I've been running on no sleep for a week and I think I deserve a nap. I hand the baby to her and go into the bedroom, where I quickly pass out.

After what seems like a second, I'm woken up by Ella's cries and Henri's sobs. I'm aggravated that she can't give me just a few hours for a nap and I lie in bed for a while, listening to the chaos before getting up. I shuffle out of the bedroom, trying to hold in my anger.

Without a word, I take Ella and hold her to my chest and kiss her bald little head and hush her. After a moment, she stops crying. I am Greg House, baby whisperer. I know Henri is feeling awful. I look at her face, which is red from crying and I kiss her cheek and lie down on the couch with Ella on my chest and I close my eyes, intending to go back to sleep.

I hear the pop of a champagne bottle opening and Henri all but stomps into the bedroom and practically slams the door. I rub the baby's back softly and wonder how we're going to get into the groove of things the way we should.


	52. Chapter 52

Ella is two months old and House has been back at work for about a week. The baby has colic and she cries almost constantly. I have to get up with her at night now because House has work. In exchange, he gets up with her in the morning, but when he leaves I'm left alone in the apartment all day with a crying, needing baby.

I still can't seem to get the hang of all this. The moments where Ella is sleeping or lying down quietly are my favorite moments. The second House gets home he knows he has to take her, even though he'd rather sit down and relax after a long day.

Cuddy comes over on a day off and brings Aaron with her. He walks around, entertaining himself and I wish Ella would get there. He sits on the floor, eating Cheerios out of a Tupperware and coloring. Cuddy takes Ella and smiles, her face lighting up. She holds her just right and Ella smiles up at her.

I don't know how she does it. She tries to tell me that I'll fall into it eventually; all first-time mothers are nervous. I'm way more than nervous; I'm a complete and utter failure. I'm stressed and depressed and strained. I've had no problem losing the baby weight because I'm so upset, I can't eat.

She's taking the baby for the next two days so House and I can get some quiet. I've gotten the okay from my OB to have sex again and we're going to go out for the first time in what feels like forever. I'm not sure how happy he is about taking me out; he's struggling, too. The fact that he's not a failure at being a parent like I am doesn't mean he's perfect, either.

He forgot to dilute the formula in the bottle he was giving Ella and she ended up sick, crying for hours. We had a screaming match and he said he was tired of this bullshit and we should give the kid away to Cuddy and Wilson. He said he hated that I don't take responsibility and hand Ella off to him every chance I get; he works, he puts food on the table and money in my bank account and I should pull my weight.

I agreed with him. I still agree with him, but I can't help it. We made up, sort of, and things have been at an uneasy peace for the past few days. I help Cuddy get Ella into her car and pack the things she'll need and when she drives away, I'm so happy for the peace.

I take a long time getting ready. I shave my legs, wash my hair, moisturize; I do all the things I haven't gotten the chance to do. I pluck my eyebrows, paint my nails and apply makeup. I throw on a green dress and put on heels and when I look at myself in the mirror, I finally feel like a human being again.

He gets home, looking tired, but kisses me on the cheek and tells me I look beautiful. He takes a minute to change and we head out to a great Asian restaurant that opened just after Ella was born; we've been dying to try it.

I have a nice Japanese beer and some sushi and House has sesame chicken. I'm a little clumsy with my chopsticks, while he expertly picks up chicken and rice with his. I envy how cultured he is; I've only ever been out of the country three times and once was to Canada. We're trying to enjoy ourselves and at first there's tension between us, a nervousness and awkwardness that most likely stems from the stress the baby puts on us.

After a few drinks, we're at ease and relaxed and laughing. I look at him in the dim light, his eyes squinting slightly as he laughs, and his piercing blue eyes make me melt. For the first time in months, I'm actually having sexual thoughts. I put a hand on his knee and I see he's immediately excited.

We get back to the house, the gloriously empty house, and we're making out as if we're seventeen year-olds after a date. One hand rests on my ass and the other goes to my breast. I have a moment of self-consciousness, as my breasts, though they've gotten bigger, I feel like they've lost some of their perkiness. I'm also afraid of what he'll think of the lingering stretch marks on my hips, how they're silvery and stand out in the light. House, obviously, doesn't mind.

There's a moment of pain and resistance as he enters me and he stops and holds my face in his hands and asks me if I'm okay. He's gentle and slow and it's a wonderful reunion.

xXxXx

For once, I'm actually happy to be back at work. I have my puzzles and my mysteries back, and although I've consulted via phone for the last few weeks, it's nice to be back in my element. Ella is two months old and she has colic and cries constantly. Henri gets up with her at night and I get her up in the morning and feed her and change her before I go to work.

Henri isn't doing very well. She can't seem to get into the groove of things and she's so stressed, I see weight dropping off her, dark circles under her eyes and I think she's losing hair, if the clumps in her hairbrush and in the shower drain is anything to go on. The second I get home, even if it's been a particularly stressed and long day, she hands the baby to me.

I love Ella, I do, but when I get home, I want to relax in front of the TV or the piano or with my guitar and a cold beer or a glass of scotch. Instead, I get a frustrated wife and a crying infant.

I'm sitting in Wilson's office, eating some coleslaw out of a plastic tub. The past few months have seen a decline in Henri's willingness to cook, so I rely on Wilson's lunch and a local deli that makes amazing potato salad and coleslaw. Wilson has started to pack extra lunch so he can still eat after my scavenging.

I want to know how he does it, how he and Cuddy can have a good relationship and be so happy with their kid. He says he thinks it's the nanny, a Jamaican woman named Thelma, that helps them balance work, baby and romance. With Henri not working, I doubt a nanny is necessary for us. I have to figure out a way for all parties involved to be happy without completely rearranging our lives.

Wilson tries to tell me we'll fall into it all eventually; all first-time parents are nervous and clumsy. I'm way more than nervous; I feel like we're complete and utter failures. Henri is stressed and depressed and strained and I think she should seek out therapy. I can't be there all the time to help her out.

Cuddy and Wilson are taking Ella for the next two days so Henri and I can get some quiet. Henri's gotten the okay from her OB to have sex again and I can barely keep my pants on at that idea. Two months and no sex has killed me. I think I've worn out my porn collection and my wrist. We're going out for the first time in what feels like forever and I'm not sure how I feel about treating her to a nice dinner. We haven't exactly been happy with each other for a while and there's tension.

We've been fighting a lot lately. She's accused me of gibing Ella diaper rash because I was too quick with changing her diaper. She did end up with a wicked case of diaper rash, but I don't know that I'm the one to blame. She makes me blow-dry the baby's butt now. We had a screaming match and I said I was tired of this bullshit and told her she needed to shape up or ship out. I've been on her case lately about how I hate that she never takes responsibility and hands Ella off to me every chance she gets; I work, I pay the rent and the bills and she needs to pull her weight.

She agreed with me and although I felt badly about being so harsh about things, I'm still frustrated by her behavior. We made up, sort of, and things have been tense these past few days. I can't wait to have a little peace and quiet for a few days; I think that's exactly what we need to get back on our feet.

I get home and I'm tired, but when I see her I'm immediately perked up. I kiss her on the cheek and tell her she looks beautiful. I can tell she's taken her time to look nice. Her hair and makeup are done perfectly and her skin looks soft and smooth and I can't wait to put my hands on her body. I take a moment to change and we go to the new Asian restaurant down the street.

I have a nice, cold Japanese beer and some sesame chicken and Henri has sushi. I love to see her with the chopsticks; she uses them relatively well, but I can tell she's embarrassed whenever she drops something. We're trying to enjoy ourselves and at first there's apprehension and strain.

After a few drinks, we're relaxed and it's just like it used to be and I know that although things around us have changed, we haven't changed and our feelings for each other haven't changed. I look at her in the dim light, her eyes squinting slightly as she laughs, and her creamy skin and her smile and her clear blue eyes make me want her. She puts her hand on my knee and I think I might burst right here.

We get back to the apartment, which is wonderfully empty and quiet, and we're making out like a couple of kids. I grab her perfect ass with one hand and her breast with the other hand; they're bigger and I love it. I can tell she's self-conscious, but I'm trying my best to make her feel as sexy as I think she is.

She tenses just as I press myself into her and I stop and hold her lovely face in my hands and make sure she's okay before I proceed. I try to be as gentle and slow as my libido will let me and it's an amazing reunion.


	53. Chapter 53

Tritter was found dead in his cell yesterday. He'd hung himself with his shirt and slashed his wrists on the jagged edge of a spring on the bed frame. I suppose the idea of an ex-cop who went psycho going to jail where he could meet some people he'd put away wasn't a savory idea. At least now we don't have to worry about going through a lengthy trial; I have no interest in reliving what happened.

Ella is practically screaming at the top of her lungs and nothing I do can help her. I've fed her, changed her diaper, given her a bath and now I'm holding her close, bouncing her up and down to try and ease her out of her hysterical state. I've got the dishwasher going because she tends to like the noise, but it doesn't help. This has been going on for three months now.

I can't stand the screaming and crying, I can't stand being with my own child. I want to run far, far away from here and not look back. I want things to be the way they used to be, when House and I would go anywhere we wanted whenever we wanted, when we would get drunk at noon and have sex all day. I miss those days more than anyone could ever imagine. I feel like I'm stuck in hell.

After a while, after I've taken her for a drive and a walk and put her in the swing, she's still crying. Nothing I can think of is stopping the crying and I start to cry, too. I can't stand it any longer and I put her in her crib to cry it out and I'm shaking I'm so upset. I need to calm down and my eyes rest on a bottle of House's Vicodin.

Like a thief, I grab the bottle and close myself in the bathroom. I take one out and crush it on the counter until it's a fine white powder. I make neat little lines and I take a dollar bill out of my pocket and start snorting the lines one by one. To add to my high, I grab House's scotch and take a swig.

Vicodin has a burn with it that almost makes it not worth it, but I need some sort of chemical intervention. My stress level is through the roof. I'm just about to finish up the last line when the door swings open.

House is standing there and he sees what I'm doing and immediately gets a look of anger on his face. He asks me how I could be blowing Vicodin on the bathroom counter when our daughter is screaming in her crib. I burst into tears and tell him I can't deal with the stress. I've tried everything to stop her from crying, but nothing works and I'm at the end of my rope. I can't deal with any of this anymore. He tells me I have to deal with it, I have to suck it up and be a mother to my child. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and cry into my hands. What the hell am I doing?

He says he came to grab some lunch and is glad he came home; I shouldn't be drunk and stoned taking care of the baby. He goes into the bedroom and picks her up and after a while, she stops screaming. My own baby doesn't like me.

He walks back to the bathroom door and he has Ella in the carrier strapped across his chest and says he'll be back when I've got a head on my shoulders. He slams the door as he goes out.

In the quiet emptiness of the apartment, I take another swig of scotch and snort the last line of Vicodin and I cry. I can't handle any of this. I'm just not fit to be a mother. I consider leaving, to make it easier, but I've never been one to take the easy road. And what would I think of myself if I abandoned everything I love? I would be relieved for a second and then the guilt would kill me.

When he doesn't come home, I know he's really pissed. He's at Wilson and Cuddy's, I'm sure, bitching about me and shocking them with my behavior. I don't get a phone call from any of them and I guess I don't deserve one. I know where he is and that's enough for now.

xXxXx

That piece of shit Tritter offed himself. He was too much of a coward to face the consequences of his actions and so he killed himself in his cell yesterday. I'm relieved to not have to deal with the burden of a trial and having to sit in the same room with him without killing him. After what he did to Henri, he deserves exactly what he got and worse. It's times like these I wish there was an afterlife so I knew he was rotting in hell.

Things at home are still tense. Ella is three months old and her colic hasn't slowed down a bit. Henri is probably going to tear all her hair out one day. I try my best to ease tension at home by going home two or three times a week for lunch and I take the baby the second I get home.

For an unknown reason that boggles both my mind and Henri's mind, Ella tends to be calmer with me. After a couple hours, I can usually hush her enough so I can relax a bit. Henri feels like a failure, feels like the baby hates her and nothing I do or say changes her feelings.

I head home to get some lunch and when I arrive, I hear Ella screaming at the top of her lungs. I don't see Henri anywhere and so I open the bathroom door. The sight I'm confronted with stops me in my tracks.

Henri is bent over the bathroom counter, a rolled up dollar bill in her hand and my pills next to a bottle of scotch. She's getting fucked up when she's supposed to be watching our child and it makes my blood boil. It's one thing for me to use; I'm controlling my pain. Henri gets sloppy when she's messed up and that's not the Henri I want taking care of our kid.

I lay into her, asking her how she could leave our screaming baby in her crib while I blow lines and get drunk in the bathroom. I tell her she might as well be in the trailer park with a cigarette and some Cheetos and a meth lab in the back. She tries to justify it by telling me she can't deal with the stress. I'm so angry, I don't even want to look at her. I'm stressed, too. I blow up at her and at the people at work on a daily basis because I have a screaming baby waking me up ten times a night, too. She isn't the only one in this situation. As pissed off as I get, as much as I hate this colic bullshit, I don't go off the deep end. I don't stoop to that level, as much as I'd love to. For once, I'm the responsible adult.

I go into the bedroom and pick up Ella and I kiss her soft cheek and hold her close to my chest. After a while her cries turn into little sniffles and she calms down. I'm taking Ella with me; I won't leave her when Henri's in this state. I pack her bag and I realize I don't have enough hands for this venture.

Although I know I'll look ridiculous, I grab that baby fanny pack Wilson and Cuddy got us and I strap Ella to my chest. I take the bag and I walk past the bathroom. Henri is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, crying. I tell her I'll be back when she has a head on her shoulders and I leave.

I get back to the hospital and I have a baby and people are giving me confused stares. I walk into my office and Thirteen asks why I have an infant and I ignore her and we start going over our case. I come to realize that I love this baby carrier. I keep Ella close and I have the use of my hands. I might look like an idiot, but it might be my new favorite baby accessory.

Cuddy comes in, flustered, and asks what the hell happened. I tell her it's none of her damn business and she points out that it becomes her business when I bring my baby into her hospital. I take Ella out of the pouch and hand her to the nearest person, who happens to be Foreman, and Cuddy and I step out into the hallway. I tell her an abbreviated version of what happened and tell her we'll be crashing at her place tonight. She rolls her eyes and asks if she should even try to say no.

I shrug and get a bag of chips out of the vending machine and go back into my office. Foreman tries to hand Ella back but I tell him to keep her for a second; I'm eating and don't want to get crumbs on her head. He sighs and Ella looks up at him and smiles and reaches her hand out and grabs at his nose. Damn, she's cute.

When I'm at Wilson and Cuddy's later, we sit in the living room drinking bourbon. Cuddy is getting Ella and Aaron ready for bed and Wilson is trying to have a heart to heart with me. I tell him exactly what happened and he's surprised, but he says that Henri is under a lot of stress.

I know she's stressed. I know her life has changed abruptly, I know she has to be locked in the apartment with a screaming baby all day, I know she's unhappy. None of these things are a reason to get fucked up while you're supposed to be responsible. I'm in this, too, and she doesn't see me completely losing it. I don't know where to go from here.

xXxXx

A/N: Hey all... on one note, Happy Thanksgiving; hope it's a good one. On another note, this may be it for a while. Up until now, I've had my chapters written very far in advance so I didn't write every day. Unfortunately, I have no more chapters written right now. It's the end of my semester at school and I have quite a few projects to worry about. I'm going to try to get some FF writing in if I can, but it'll be a while before the next chapter is up. Thanks for being loyal and please be patient; I'm going to try as best as I can to get more up soon. Cheers.


	54. Chapter 54

I have been gone six long months, indulging in my own selfishness. My freedom was in fact my prison, my mind plagued with guilt. Shirking my responsibilities, I embarked on a journey of self-indulgence, self-destruction and self-discovery. I tried to return many times, but my fear and guilt and subornness held me back. I come back now only after pushing aside my pride and knowing I must face what I have done. With my return will be anger and confusion and questions I'm still not sure I can answer.

He will hate me and I will never have the right to ask for his forgiveness. I have to try, though, to make things right. He is a hard man, an angry man, a man who will hold a grudge to his grave. I married him despite this, despite his intensity, despite the age gap and his addiction and his immaturity. I showed the least maturity when I left, when I couldn't get past myself and accept my responsibilities as a wife and mother. I should have gotten help, should have known better, should have stayed. I should have done a lot of things and I will always be haunted by the decisions I made. I destroyed my life in one moment, with one action.

I'm going to have to explain myself, but no excuse is good enough. I'll be seen as a bad person, a selfish bitch, a shitty mother. I'm sure he'll say that and worse. I'm trying to prepare for the hellfire from the only man I've ever loved and still love and will always love. I return now seeking redemption but knowing I will find bitterness and hate and pain. Of the two of us, I never expected me to be the one to walk out.

I remember the last time I saw him. I lay on the couch, the blinding brightness of the sun and the clanking of bottles toppling over. My binge didn't stop once he left, once I realized what I'd been doing that day. I drank everything in sight and cried myself to sleep. My head was pounding and my stomach rolled and I moved to my side and hung my head over the edge of the couch and puked into the bucket I'd strategically placed by my head the night before. I heard his familiar cursing and I looked up at him, my vision blurred. I could see the anger in his face.

He told me to get myself together, that I was pathetic. I knew it, he didn't have to say it. He wanted to hurt me, though, so he bombarded me with insults and a guilt trip. I was a weak person, a drunk, a bad mother. He told me I could either buck up or get the fuck out. I had a week. I didn't even wait that long.

After a day, after nursing my hangover and becoming halfway functional, I packed a bag, got into the car and I left. On the coffee table, I left my keys, my cell phone and a note, simply saying, "I'm sorry."

I come home just in time for Ella's first birthday.

xXxXx

She's been gone for six long months. I don't know if she'll ever come back and part of me is so angry that I don't want her to come back. I have been left with a young child that I'm barely capable of caring for. I work 50 hours a week and so do Wilson and Cuddy. They've split the cost of the nanny with me, but it isn't the same as being raised by an actual parent. I might be an angry, cold bastard, but the last thing I want is for my child to end up like me.

I hate Henri and I love her and the combination kills me. I want nothing more than for things to be the blissful, white picket fence that television promises and real life never actually gives. I love her and miss her and want to hold her. I hate her and I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her, hard, and scream in her face. I'm an angry man who will hold a grudge to my grave. She married me despite this, despite my intensity, despite the age gap and my addiction and my immaturity. She showed the least maturity when she left, though, when she couldn't get past herself and accept her responsibilities as a wife and mother. She should have gotten help, should have known better, should have stayed. She destroyed our lives in one moment, with one action.

I want to think she's a bad person, a selfish bitch, a shitty mother. I'd say that and worse to her if she ever has the guts to come back. Of the two of us, I never expected her to be the one to walk out. In reality, I know she's not a bad person, just too young and too stubborn to ask for help. A child is overwhelming and Ella takes after both of us; she is a difficult child when she wants to be.

I remember the last time I saw her. I walked into the apartment after my night at Cuddy and Wilson's. I found her passed out on the couch, the floor and coffee table littered with bottles, a bucket near her head. I tripped over a bottle and cursed. She stirred, moaning and rolling over to her side before puking into the bucket. I moved around the apartment and packed a bag for Ella and I. Henri was going to be punished for her little binge; she wasn't about to get off with a hangover and a stern talking to. I looked down at her, pissed, and she barely focused on me. I could see the misery in her face.

I told her to get herself together, that she was pathetic. I'm sure she knew it and I'm sure she felt bad. I'm sure I didn't have to say it, but i wanted to hurt her, so I bombarded her with insults and a guilt trip, something I know how to do well. I told her she was a weak person, a drunk, a bad mother. I told her she could either buck up or get the fuck out. I gave her a week, but she didn't even wait that long.

Now, I feel that I should've seen the signs and gotten her help, with or without her consent. I shouldn't have been so hard on her, I shouldn't have given her a time limit. I shouldn't have punished her like I did. I shouldn't have done a lot of things.

I came back to the apartment after a couple days and all I found was her keys, her cell phone and a note, simply saying, "I'm sorry." Some of her clothes were missing and her car was gone. Her family had no idea where she was. I waited days and then weeks and after two months I realized she probably wasn't coming back. My Vicodin use got a little out of hand in those first weeks. Cuddy and Wilson did more than they should have for me. I finally got a grip and got back into my routine. At night, I tried not to think of her, but always did.

Whether she ever comes back or not, she will always be on my mind and in my heart, forever and always.

xXxXx

A/N: Hey all, I'm really sorry about the lack of updates. My muse has seemed to have left me for a while and it's still not back 100%. I've got two papers and a test in the next week, and instead of preparing, I wrote this and am about to go out drinking... ah well. Sorry for the delay and please be patient, as I have no idea when the next installment could come. Thank you for your dedication and your reviews!


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